


Ringleader

by Surgeworks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/M, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, I think this is going to be my magnum opus fanfiction???, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Surgeworks/pseuds/Surgeworks
Summary: Three months after the fall of Lord Voldemort and the dissolution of his followers, four stragglers from the inner circle meet up and regroup to take a second shot at subjugating Wizarding Britain and taking the head of their master's arch-nemesis. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and friends will face a web of schemes and danger as they try and wipe out the last of the Death Eaters, who now have a surprisingly cunning madman at the helm.
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	1. Commitment

**Author's Note:**

> I may not need to say this, but like most sensible people, I pretend _Harry Potter and the Cursed Child_ as well as the _Fantastic Beasts_ movies do not exist, and my world is much happier for it.

“You’re the only one that can do it.”

Four Death Eaters, or perhaps ex-Death Eaters now, stood alone in a small, dark room. Antonin Dolohov stood facing away from the other three, one hand in his pocket. The fire lighting the sole candle in the room wavered, casting shadows everywhere. Among them, the Lestrange brothers hovered at a distance, watching Yaxley make his case. With no response, he continued.

“We need a leader. If we don’t strike back soon, this will be the end of proper society. The purity of wizards will decline. We need you.”

Finally, Dolohov spoke.

“Yaxley…” he said slowly. “This time would have been better spent going into hiding. Our master has fallen, and his strongest allies with him. Potter has won. This is a fool’s dream.”

“It isn’t the end!” snarled the voice of Rodolphus, drawing both men’s attention onto him. He was usually much calmer. “The blood traitors lost plenty of their number as well! If we muster enough strength, we can crush them! And you’re the strongest we’ve got!”

“Now is the time,” Yaxley pressed, “with our enemies still reeling, and despairing, we hit the bastards hard! To do that, we need a new master to lead us to victory. You are the only one of us suited to the task.”

“Hmph.”

Silence fell again, and he could tell they were hoping for an affirmation. It was over, wasn’t it? The war was lost. And yet these men still pushed to continue the fight…

“You three are adamant on rallying around me?” he croaked, throat somewhat dry.

“We are.” Yaxley said. Rodolphus and Rabastan both nodded.

“You intend to accept me as your new Dark Lord?”

All three men murmured their assent.

“I still think you’re fools, you know. The time for decisive victory has passed us by. But if you insist…I say the cause for purity should go out with a bang, not a whimper…Don’t you agree?”

“Yes!” Yaxley roared, and Rodolphus and Rabastan excitedly agreed. Dolohov could feel himself relenting, as certain ideas floated around in his head. Questions he had yet to answer, and if this would afford him the chance…but, could he really deny the tiny little bit of him that craved a second wind as well, some part of him longing for vengeance for the Dark Lord and a culture of blood purity lost?

“You must know that I can only do so much…and that I’ll need a lot of help from you three. You’ll give me your unwavering loyalty?”

“We will.” all three men answered.

“You’re prepared to make sacrifices to achieve our goals?”

The gleeful smiles faded only slightly. There was only an instant’s hesitation as each man answered ‘yes’. This did not bother Dolohov, as his next question was the important one. At last, he turned to face them. The hand in his pocket gripped the small scrap of paper within tightly.

“And what _are_ your goals?”

Silence followed this. It was Rodolphus who spoke first.

“I want revenge.” he said, and on his face was a rictus that was some mix of teeth-grinding rage and manic grin, somewhat disturbing to behold. “I want Potter’s head, I want that Granger mudblood run through…and I want that whole family of traitorous wretches in a ditch.”

_The Weasleys, then…yes, I can make that work. Potter’s head will be more difficult. The more we wait, the further away that much gets._

“Potter has to die.” Rabastan followed up. “He’s inflicted too many damages to the pure-blood ideology. His friends cut through our ranks because of him. We’ve lost too many to let him live.”

Dolohov noted that his eyes flickered to his brother next to him, and he nodded in response. “Yaxley?”

“I want a new world order.” Yaxley demanded. “We were so close to crushing the perversions of our race. Wizarding history _will_ remember us as heroes for ridding it of these filthy invaders. I can’t accept a failure.”

“I see…yes, I want those things, too. Supposing that I accept this position, if the three of you follow me, I think I can give them to you.”

Dolohov stared at them, eyes focusing on each of them in turn, and then finally landing on the candle lighting the four of them.

“But if you trust me that much, I need you to show it. You want me to be your new Dark Lord? Fine. I will be needing sacrifices from each of you, then.”

“What is it you need?” Yaxley asked, peering at him.

“The first thing is, each of you is going to need to bring me a life. Someone will need to die. I don’t doubt any of your abilities or motivations, but I want to see them for myself. You will take that life as tribute and proof of your dedication, understand?”

Silence fell once more.

“Er…right now?” Rabastan asked.

“No, not right now.” Dolohov answered. “If I’m going to draw up a plan of action for us, I need more details. There are some…things I’d like to study.”

He’d been studying this and that, here and there, for some years now, filling in pieces of a puzzle that had only been understood by the few. But before he committed to anything, he wanted to confirm some suspicions, and he imagined he had a good way to do just that. And who knew? He was more of a follower than a leader, always had been. But maybe he could play this role for a little while. It was clear by now that they wouldn’t accept anyone else.

This hare-brained idea was bound for failure, but he did feel that his itch to kill blood traitors had not yet been sated. The war had ended so quickly, and there was still much to do.

“So while I fill you in, what do the three of you say to a visit to Malfoy Manor?”

_Out with a bang…yes, that’s what we’ll do…_


	2. Intrusion

Harry stood, thin-mouthed and silent, opposite a person he was not sure how to approach.

Draco Malfoy had not met nor spoken to Harry Potter or anyone he knew since the Battle of Hogwarts. He doubted that the unexpected end to this distance was any more welcome on Malfoy's end than his own; at best, Harry thought Draco someone to be pitied, but six years of antagonism and assaults didn't magically vanish because a war had come along. Ron, at his side, appeared ready to stride over and deck the boy purely on principle. No one seemed to know what to say.

The circumstances could not have been stranger. With three months of rigorous study under their belts, and some arrangements made by McGonagall, Harry and Ron were ready to begin training as Aurors. They were still only small-time, and would not be working with Hermione as after she finished her career training at the Ministry, would be going back to Hogwarts to finish her schooling. Fresh onto the scene and eager to help vanquish Dark wizards, it was to their shock that they found themselves accompanying senior Auror Dawlish to Malfoy Manor, of all places. The scion of the wealthy pureblood family well-known for Death Eater activity and connections had summoned aid some time ago, and just now had finished informing their chaperone of the nature of an attack on his home.

"Quit staring. What are you doing here, Potter?"

"Training." Harry said simply.

"Oh, you two know each other?" Dawlish said brightly. "I'll let you take the rest of the statement, then."

"Clueless arse." Ron muttered as he strode off towards the other investigating aurors. "Whatever. So did you get any look at who the Death Eaters were?" he asked, turning back to Malfoy.

"......No." Malfoy answered, taking long enough that Harry wondered if he was actually weighing how rude to be. "They had their hoods and masks on, and none of them ever spoke, so I never heard their voices."

"Do you three get a lot of this?" Harry asked, looking towards the manor, which, save for a busted window, seemed to be entirely undamaged from the outside.

"Yeah. We've been dealing with petty attacks like this every so often since the war ended. Dad's old cronies upset that he turned his back on the war. Most of them know where we live, since Voldemort used our house as a base for a whole year. Usually, though, it's just potshots. Busting in, breaking furniture, trying to land a hex on Dad, and then leaving. Rowle and Travers, and the like. They've never tried to get very deep into the manor before, though."

"So what happened this time?" Harry asked, again peering at the window. Their stay at the manor in March had been extraordinarily unpleasant. Neither one of them was looking forward to seeing the inside again, even for an investigation.

"They broke into the west gallery." Malfoy answered. Ron's mouth twisted into a frown. "There's a lot of stuff in there that's dangerous, and plenty of stuff we've been procuring or commissioning since the end of the war. Funny thing is, they didn't take anything. They definitely wanted to get in there, seeing as they busted the door in, but nothing's missing."

That _was_ strange. Burglars who left the scene unpillaged? Harry didn't like this.

"Did they do anything at all to _you_?" Ron asked.

"They tried. Two of them went for Dad and I, so there were at least three of them. It was a little too easy, I think they were just there to distract us."

"Anything else you want to add before we check the inside?" Harry asked.

" _Inside_? You're delusional, I'm not letting you two into my house!"

"Believe us, Malfoy, we don't want to go in there any more than you want us to." Ron snapped. "Besides, I don't know what you're afraid of. Dad's seen all the Dark artefacts and I've seen all the ugly furniture. There's nothing left to disgust us."

"You filthy little rat, you're going to hear from--"

"Are you two done yet?" came the huffing voice of a senior Auror from off to the side. "Hurry up, you two, it's time to check the place, Dawlish wants you two to go in with him."

All three boys had identical sour looks on their faces as Harry and Ron began to stroll up the lawn towards the front door.

* * *

Harry had his wand lit, though there wasn't much need. Light was still streaming in through windows in the halls and ceilings. The damages to the manor, as far as Harry could see, were numerous, but not extensive--blast marks along the walls, splintered boards, a shattered vase here and there. Malfoy seemed to have been right, if Harry were to judge at a glance. There was no severe structural damage at all, so either the fight had been a very short one, or it had been a farce. Still, they had yet to reach the true target room.

They moved carefully past the doors along the walls until they turned a corner and came to a door that was ornate, albeit splintered and lying on the floor leading into the west gallery. The two trainees followed him in, observing the Death Eaters' handiwork.

True to the report, absolutely nothing was touched here. Dawlish led them through the room, which appeared to be U-shaped and comprised three halls turning into one another. Harry peered around the long rectangular room around him, with dozens of glass cases set into shelves in the walls and atop pedestals lining the room. None were broken, and every last one appeared to contain something undisturbed. Harry saw books that looked well-worn with age, fine silver instruments and contraptions, and pearls and emeralds adorning jewelry and weapons. He also became aware shortly after entering the room of a soft green light, and looked back towards Ron.

"What're you doing?" he muttered quietly.

His friend's wand was emitting a lime-green glow, which he looked down towards before glancing back up at Harry.

" ' _Claresco Premo_ '. Highlighting charm." Ron murmured back. Harry took note of this, repeating the phrase in his head with a flick of his wand and watching a similar green glow top his own wand. The surroundings were thrown into much sharper relief where the light touched, and he used this to get a closer look at things. Doing so, he noticed something familiar. Ron had noticed it, too.

"Hey, isn't that--?"

"Yeah." Harry said, and both of them focused on a silver tiara studded with sapphires. The lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw--broken and blackened from exposure to Fiendfyre, purged then of the soul fragment that had once laid within it.

"How did they get their hands on this?" Harry asked.

"They bought it, along with the others." Ron explained. "Hermione told me that they were part of a lot of items recovered from the Battle of Hogwarts; the Malfoys have been allowed to buy and store a lot of dark artefacts because their money was needed for reparations, and they're so well heard-of that official word to block them off of all pawning sites on pain of Azkaban got implemented pretty easily. The diary, the cup, and the locket are probably around here somewhere, too."

"Hermione must've been right upset about that." Harry commented, prodding the diadem's display case. "That's Hogwarts history dusting away in here."

"I don't think anyone wants stuff like that hanging around the school anymore, even if it is history." Ron answered. "Besides, the Malfoys purvey this kind of stuff, it's not out of character for them. If it's got dark powers, a long past, or both, they buy it and keep it. Adds to their flair and wealthy impression. They're well-known for buying whatever comes their way that's 'too much' for other people."

"Hence all the raids." Harry summed up, to a cheerful affirmative from Ron.

"You two still back there?" Dawlish's voice called back to them. "Come on, then, and mind you be careful checking inside drawers and cabinets."

And check they did. Harry and Ron were able to confirm that, apart from the ring which would never be recovered from where Harry left it, every item once serving as a Horcrux was here. Though every display case had something in it, plenty of the shelves, cabinets, and drawers were unstocked. Detection spells designed to reveal theft turned up nothing, until...

"You hear that? Over there."

A out-of-the-way drawer was rattling, just in the corner that turned the gallery hall back towards the center of the house. Harry and Ron moved towards it, finding it vibrating harder the closer they drew. A flick of Harry's wand ceased the movement, and he opened the drawer to find nothing, though the knob was hot in his hand.

"Malfoy was wrong, then." Harry muttered. "Something _was_ taken. Go back and get him in here, ask him what was in this drawer."

This did not take long. Ron retreated back towards the front of the manor and was back in the gallery in under a minute, with Malfoy in tow; the two were already arguing.

"I swear, Weasley, if you take this opportunity to snag something and sell it off--"

"Eat me, you spoiled brat, I don't want or need your family's shit--"

"That's enough." came the voice of Dawlish, who had strode over to take a look at the empty drawer as well. "Mr. Malfoy, do you know what was in this drawer?"

"No. I didn't know there was anything in it at all." the blond boy answered. "We don't use those drawers in the corners, never have. The only one who ever touched them was that wretched little house elf you stole from us--"

Harry was just about to furiously snap at Malfoy, or perhaps punch him, for speaking about Dobby that way, but Dawlish shot him a warning look.

"--and he only came in here to clean. So if anything was in there, it probably wasn't worth much. Besides, I double-checked the catalogue, nothing our family owns was taken."

This did not really answer any questions. A thief who broke in and stole some object a family as prestigious as the Malfoys would have, yet not notice, was not much easier to decipher than a thief who took nothing at all. Harry was positive that this couldn't have been the work of a petty rat like, say, Mundungus, since the account had mentioned that the intruders made sure to wear their Death Eater hoods and masks. Someone was up to something no good, but for now, it seemed the investigation would be going nowhere.

With nothing else to go on, the two boys followed the Auror out of the manor, with Draco and Lucius being informed that they could commence repairs at their leisure. Not sorry to say goodbye, they mounted their brooms and followed the task force up into the air and back towards London.

"I hope Kingsley's had a better day than we have." Ron said to Harry, midway through the flight.

This was unlikely. Some time during the second Wizarding War, Gawain Robards had been slain and a puppet Head Auror installed. After Lord Voldemort's fall, the Death Eater holding the post was ousted, but few remaining Aurors were capable enough to lead the department. These days, though Kingsley had been promoted from Acting Minister for Magic to full-time Minister, he still pulled double duty training the newest Aurors, including themselves, which meant he had an immense workload at any given time. He handled it surprisingly well, though everyone who knew him was aware that it was taking its toll. He was receiving a lot of help from both Percy and Arthur, as well--Arthur was still working in Law Enforcement, while Percy had retained his position as Assistant to the Minister.

"It could have gone worse. Malfoy could've attacked us."

"That's not worse. I'd get to live the dream of arresting him myself." Ron answered, and they broke into laughter.

The entire ride back, the two boys discussed what sort of things the Malfoys might have that Death Eaters might want, and whether or not such an object should actually be returned to them if they retrieved it, depending on what it was. Though Harry was quite happy to get away from the manor where such awful things had happened, he could not stop a sense of uneasiness that had started upon entering that gallery and had not ceased since.


	3. Communion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: torture, murder, mutilation, cannibalism...it's not grimdark edge, I promise. I think.  
> Basically, the explicit process of a certain Dark Art is laid out here.

"I asked you to bring me a sacrifice apiece. Someone valuable to you. Someone whose death would prove your true loyalty to me."

The sound of pathetic whimpering was the only other one in the room beside his voice. This basement cellar was the same dark room they had occupied for their first meeting, when convincing Dolohov to become their new Dark Lord. More candles were lit now, providing some light and some warmth to the dusty, dingy place, though the edges of the room still lay in shadow. In the center, a large cauldron stood, cool and silent, filled with liquid so inky black it might well have been a hole in the world were the flickering candlelight not shining off its surface. Three chairs arranged in a circle around the cauldron held victims bound by ropes. Two were unconscious; the third had been forcibly quieted by Yaxley in quite the crude manner. Dolohov himself would've simply used a Silencing Charm instead of burning her throat like that, leaving her capable of minor sounds that were almost as annoying as the screaming after a while.

"And instead, you brought me..."

Rodolphus and Yaxley looked sheepish; Rabastan's face displayed no emotion whatsoever. None of them had the nerve to speak up in defense until prompted.

"Who are these people again?"

"...An aunt." Rodolphus answered, gesturing to his own sacrifice, an older-looking woman with wavy brown hair hiding her face, but whose hands underneath the rope bindings were covered in large rings. "Used to visit Bella and I back in the day, but she stopped writing after her husband died. Or fucked a Muggle. She never said which. Used to be a decent duelist, but she took a bad leg injury that never recovered, so she never joined the war effort. Fond of her, sure, but got no more use for her now, have I?"

"Her name is Mallory--" Rabastan started, but Rodolphus shushed him.

"And this one," he said, gesturing to the lone male among the three, who looked like he could be a missing third brother to the two siblings present, "is Cousin Raoul. He was our favorite cousin growing up, we always went to stay at his house whenever we could. Taught us how to ride brooms. Dabbled in broomstick making, but it never went anywhere."

Dolohov stood silent for a moment, staring at the unconscious man and woman. It did not pass him by how Rodolphus had focused more on what use these people were than how much it would hurt to take their lives. Nonetheless...

"...I suppose that counts." He turned to the other sacrifice present, the whimpering girl with the burned throat, whose hair hung in blond curls down to her chin. "And yours, Yaxley?"

"...My niece, Claudia." He said, after a moment's silence so heavy Dolohov wondered if he'd lost his nerve. "My generation's devotion to the Dark Lord and the purist principles have...not been welcomed among some of the newer generation. Claudia was the exception. I was her favorite uncle, and she took well to my teachings."

"And you just burned her throat out?" Dolohov said, raising an eyebrow. It seemed at least one member of the circle had taken his command seriously.

"She deserves it."

The youngest Death Eater did not miss the youngest sacrifice's continued hysteria. Quiet though it was, it was still on display, tears and phlegm flowing down her face as she made continued croaks and whimpers to the effect of begging for mercy. He had to admit, this was impressive.

"And you're prepared to kill her?" he said, now focusing his attention solely on Yaxley's face as it stared into his niece's. A vein was throbbing above his eye. "You could've gone for softer options."

"Her family were already dead. I know she killed at least one of them." Yaxley answered flatly. "Thing is, she's a Squib."

Everyone in the room went silent, including the terrified sacrifice. _Now, that makes things interesting_. A devotee to the pure-blood cause, capable of taking action against dissenters...but unable to perform magic. A class traitor. He had to wonder what was going through Corban's head right now. Few purebloods would ever admit to having any fondness for a Squib relative. It would have ostracized him here and now had it not been that she was his selected murder victim. Now was, if ever, the time to purge her and reinforce his purity.

"Somehow, she hid it all those years. So, if she dies, I really couldn't give a shit. All the better."

Dolohov searched his friend's face for some hint of dishonesty. Despite his own suspicion, he found none. Yaxley raised his wand.

"Not yet, Yaxley." he said, and the wand was lowered. "I did promise the three of you a proper explanation."

"That's right, you did." Rabastan piped up. His face was still blank and expressionless.

"Then tell me, you three ever heard of a Horcrux?"

Rabastan shook his head; Rodolphus muttered a 'no', while Yaxley's eyes narrowed as they focused on Dolohov. He raised his hand, lifting it towards the pocket of his robes. The time had finally come to remove the paper he had kept crumpled within it for some time.

"A Horcrux," he explained while gently unfolding the paper, "is an object containing a part of a wizard's soul. Killing another person will fracture the soul, and by a specific ritual, he can store a piece inside the object he chooses, which keeps him alive, no matter what. It's how the Dark Lord survived his fall at the hands of Harry Potter."

Silence followed this pronouncement, though all eyes were wide and unblinking.

"How the hell do you know that?" Yaxley demanded. "That sounds like nonsense--none of us had any clue how he did it or even that he could. Most of us never got farther than seeing a cauldron and that pathetic rat Pettigrew missing an arm."

"It's no nonsense." Dolohov said darkly. "There aren't that many ways to become immortal, and most people that have been around for the last few centuries to hear about the Philosopher's Stone know it's not completely impossible to defy death. As for how I know about it, I have a leg up. Horcruxes are obscure and not well-documented, that's true, but my family on my father's side was connected to the murder of Grigori Rasputin. He was known for surviving a protracted assassination attempt several times before it stuck, and once that was investigated--well, obviously, it was covered up and spread around that the 'unkillable man' bit was an inflated myth. But Horcruxes are an old creation. Russia also has a folk tale about a 'Koschei the Deathless' who kept his soul hidden inside objects in order to never die. So before now, I had a running theory about how our Lord remained fixed to life. The confirmation happened last year."

He lifted the small note to the firelight and read aloud:

" _To the Dark Lord - I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. - R.A.B_ "

Shocked silence continued to follow his words. Gears were turning in his fellow Death Eaters' heads. In two of the chairs, the unconscious bound victims were beginning to stir.

"It was thanks to you, Yaxley, that I found this. I was one of the ones who invaded the House of Black after you managed to grab onto the fleeing Order members. Selwyn hit that ratty house elf that greeted us with a curse, but it hit the locket hanging from his neck. He Disapparated, but not before that thing was knocked open and this little paper fell out. Judging by the wording, the 'real' Horcrux was also a locket. When the war ended and the Dark Lord fell, I simply kept an eye out for mangled lockets on the market, and wouldn't you know it, the Malfoys bought one. Of course, that brings me to the other part of the theory."

"And that is?" Yaxley asked, seeming unnerved but at the same time interested. Dolohov had known him a long time; he could read the look in his eyes.

"Knowing that the Dark Lord took almost fourteen years to return to life, it made me question this sort of creation. If he really had made Horcruxes intended to bind him to life, then they were doing a pretty poor job of it. I admit, I wondered if perhaps he simply did it wrong, or maybe these dark artifacts as a whole simply don't work as intended. Now, though, I don't believe his flaw was botching the creation of a Horcrux, I believe that it was making too many."

Yaxley and Rabastan did not seem to be catching on, but Rodolphus did; he, after all, had accompanied Dolohov to the Malfoys' west gallery in their manor.

"That cup!" he said, pointing a finger at Dolohov; beside him, Mallory blinked awake. "And that tiara!"

"Yes. We found the locket in question; we also found other objects that bore similar signs of violent destruction. Judging by what the Dark Lord has said about his path to immortality, and the effects he underwent since my father's days in school, I suspect Horcruxes can have rather...negative side effects if you indulge in too many. I know there were at least four, possibly more. Going that far may have also stressed the link between the original soul and the parts sealed away. That is why, today, the four of us will each be making only one, in which case, our resurrections will be more...prompt."

This information was not a shock to his three new followers. His explanations on the way to Malfoy Manor had consisted of informing them that they would soon be taking the title of Death Eater to new heights by following in their old master's footsteps and seeking immortality. Now, they knew what that entailed. All that was left was the finer details.

"R...Rabastan?"

Raoul had awoken, and was looking around, frightened. Dolohov's eyes flickered towards him, thinking perhaps to cast a Silencing Charm before this could become a nuisance, but no one else's did. Rabastan did not give any indication he'd noticed the disturbance.

"Rabastan, what's going on--where am I?"

"Rodolphus! Rodolphus!"

Mallory had gotten her bearings and found her voice. Unfortunately, though he admired the unshaken nerves in his Death Eaters, the third sacrifice, Claudia, was now shaking violently, throwing her body with what little freedom she could find and absolutely panicking, obviously having listened in on the explanations and realized the reason for her coming death. They were going to have to either be dumbstruck or killed soon, or Dolohov's patience would wear out.

"Okay...so what's this ritual we're going to perform?" Rodolphus said over the growing protests of the three bound victims.

"Look at the feet of your selections. You'll find flasks old and strong enough to withstand the potion I've been creating for the past three months. It's almost ready; all that needs to be added is a final ingredient--" At this point, Dolohov had to stop, as Mallory's voice had risen to a panicked half-scream as she begged attention and mercy from Rodolphus; he silenced her with a flick of his wand behind him, addling her brain for a few minutes. This in turn caused increased panic in Raoul, who nonetheless quieted down to terrified whispers when Rabastan's wand was pointed between his eyes. Dolohov spoke up again: "--which you will add after killing your selected target. There's no need for any complicated words. One quick kill will do it. Rabastan, why don't you go first?"

"What?!" yelped Raoul's voice. Immediately, he broke right back into pleading to be spared. "Come on, you can't do this, we're family! I can help you! I _will_ help you! I'm on your side! _You can't kill me, come on, think of what you're doing!_ "

Rabastan's wand was still pointed between his eyes, and his expression hadn't wavered nor betrayed whatever emotions were under the surface. He stood directly in front of Raoul, poised perfectly. He did not move or utter a sound.

"Rabastan! Rabastan, it's me! It's Raoul! They've got you Confunded, or Imperiused, point the wand away! Point the wand away, man, let me live, _let me live! Don't--!_ "

"Merlin's sake, Stan, kill the bastard already." came the dry complaint of Rodolphus. Dolohov had to agree; all this hand-wringing and protesting wasn't as funny when dragged out.

" _Don't kill me, **please**!!! **Rabastan**!!!_"

"Avada Kedavra."

Rabastan's calm, almost dead voice uttered the words, and there was a flash of green light so bright that, in the low lighting, it nearly blinded Dolohov, and probably everyone else in the room, too. When it had subsided, Raoul had gone limp, now dead.

" _Aaaaaaaaaaaagh!_ "

Mallory's shriek echoed around the cellar as she looked towards Rabastan, unable to see Raoul with her chair being pointed away. Hysterical, her pleas and crying began to run together into barely intelligible nonsense. Rodolphus wasted no time following in his brother's wake, and within moments, she too had been slain.

"Yaxley."

Claudia's body was now mostly still. She still trembled, of course, but she had abandoned her near-feral lurching around and ragged, hoarse crying. She now stared silently at her uncle, lip trembling, a fresh wave of tears flowing down her face. Her eyes were wide and reflected the wand pointed at her.

"Avada Kedavra!" Yaxley roared, and Claudia's life vanished in a third flash of green light.

At last, blissful silence, _real_ silence, hung around the room. Dolohov could finally move on with the rest of the ritual.

"So, this final ingredient?" Rabastan asked, looking vaguely disgusted. Yaxley could be heard muttering ' _Tergeo_ ' underneath his question.

"Have you all got the items you'll be crafting into Horcruxes? Take them out and show them to me."

All three men reached into their pockets and displayed the items.

"Are these the items you'll swear by? Remember, they must be things you can easily defend, and won't lose. A strong attachment to it helps."

Dolohov's eyes passed from one object to the next. Rabastan had in his hands a large silver pocketwatch, the traditional birthday gift for wizards coming of age. Yaxley had presented a large, ornate silver snuffbox; Dolohov knew that it was where he'd kept his cigars for the last twenty years. The item that caught his attention, however, was Rodolphus'.

"Rodolphus...what is that?"

"This? It's Bella's knife." he explained. "I took it out of the Malfoys' gallery."

" _I told you not to touch anything in there!_ " Dolohov said angrily. "That could be traced back to us!"

"I had to take it! Besides, they'd never even notice it was gone! I'm not using anything else!"

Dolohov made a mental note to take this out of Rodolphus' hide later, but for now, he just wanted to get the most important business out of the way. With a deep sigh, he forced himself to continue explaining.

"Whatever. Take a flagon from the floor, and fill it up with the potion. Be careful not to touch it with your bare skin. Once you've got the flagon two-thirds full, submerge your respective possessions in the potion."

There were a few moments of wordless noise as the room was filled with the sounds of clinking glass and flowing liquid. The potion inside the flagons robbed so much light from its surroundings that at a glance, the flagons seemed not to be made of glass, but obsidian.

"Set them on the ground and get ready to work. Each of you is going to extract the heart from the corpse of the person you killed. I advise freezing it first, to keep blood from getting everywhere. Rodolphus, you help Rabastan while I help Yaxley."

It was ugly business. Corpse preparation was not an oft-studied art among wizards, nevermind extraction of organs. His fellow Death Eaters, pitiless as they were, had noticeable trouble. Yaxley in particular seemed as though he'd rather not be doing this and might be sick. But within a few minutes, three fresh hearts had been removed from their homes, now levitating at wandpoint.

"The heart is the connecting point of body and soul." Dolohov explained. "Drop it into the flagon, and it will dissolve, and suffuse into the item you selected. Rabastan, you first."

Rabastan did as instructed, allowing the heart taken from Raoul to sink into the fluid. As soon as the bloody mass made contact with the black liquid, it began to froth and foam, never extending beyond the limits of its container, but leaping high instead. Thick smoke arose from the point of contact, rising in a column that nearly hid Rabastan from view. The flagon was shaking in his hand, and Dolohov pointed his wand at it to steady it for fear it would drop and shatter. It took a long time for the heart to fully dissolve, as each minute millimeter of flesh produced a more than proportionate amount of vapor. As it was slowly sunk in, the color of the potion lightened bit by bit, first a dark jade green, and by the time it was finished, a bright, poisonous, neon green. The stopwatch could be seen floating within, its silver chain lazily drifting around the fob in a halo. At last, the fumes faded and the potion was still. The feeling in the room had changed; there was a tension that wasn't present before, and it wasn't simply because of the men's emotions. The profanity of the rites being performed pervaded the air. Dolohov could feel a tingling and his hair standing on end. He strode forward, placing a hand on Rabastan's shoulder.

"Are you ready?"

Rabastan looked him in the eye and nodded.

"Drink."

Dolohov became aware of Rodolphus quite close to him as he gave this order. The potion had no doubt been created correctly, but if it hadn't, of course Rodolphus might be ready to tear him apart. Looking at them each in turn, Rabastan lifted the flagon to his lips and began to take long draughts.

There was no immediate sign of trouble. After three gulps, however, he had to stop, wiping his mouth with a disgusted look.

"Keep going."

"Dolohov, don't--" Rodolphus warned him, but Dolohov shrugged him off.

"Keep drinking, Rabastan. You have to finish it."

A faint glow had begun to shine from inside the flagon, emanating from the stopwatch. Rabastan nodded again and lifted the flagon, drinking deeply again, albeit slower. After another four gulps, he had paused, but did not bring the flagon away from his lips. Another sip, then another, and he fell to one knee, having to stop again.

"Rabastan, stop--" Rodolphus tried to say, but Dolohov wove him off, forcing him back with one arm and a warning look. Taking matters into his own hands, he knelt down beside the Death Eater, tilting the flagon upward and assisting him with the drink. Not only was the stopwatch, whose chain was clinking against the rim of the flagon, glowing brighter still, but a similar glow could now be seen in Rabastan's chest. With his new master's aid, Rabastan finished the drink, and by the time there was only a sip left, the glows were outshining the previous flashes of light from the Killing Curses.

The flagon was set on the ground with a hard _thud_ , and Rabastan fell forward onto his palms. Rodolphus went around to the other side of him to examine his face, trying to help him up, but backed away when his brother suddenly convulsed violently. Throwing himself back so that his head was hanging over his feet, Rabastan exhaled a large amount of bright green smoke, before collapsing.

" _RABASTAN!_ "

There was a _bang_ , courtesy of Dolohov hitting Rodolphus with a Revulsion Jinx.

" _Enough!_ I understand your concern for your brother, but _back away_ , Rodolphus. If you thought there was a chance this wouldn't work, you should've made peace with that before going through with it. Now stand still and let him get up on his own."

Rabastan did not take long. His eyes remained open, but he laid still for a few moments before blinking and slowly pulling himself up.

"Are you feeling alright?" came the elder brother's immediate question, helping the younger to his feet when he extended a hand, and glaring at Dolohov as though daring him to hit him with another repulsor. Rabastan took a few deep breaths, and nodded again.

"I want to hear you say it. Tell us you're alright."

"I'm alright." Rabastan rasped. "Did it work? Is part of my soul in there?"

"It seems to have worked fine." Dolohov answered, examining the flagon and the stopwatch within. "Only you will be able to tell for sure, of course, but so far, the ritual has gone exactly as it was supposed to. Whatever discomfort you're feeling now should pass, soon."

He retrieved the new Horcrux from the glass as he said this, and it felt...heavier. The chain was ice cold, but the watch itself warm. When he tried to open it, it would not budge. He also thought he could detect a faint thumping from within. That tingling of perversion was in the air again, but concentrated around the stopwatch in his hands, and it soon faded.

"Here." he said, handing the Horcrux to its owner. "Keep it safe. Apply as many protective measures as you can to it. Rodolphus, you're up next."

Rodolphus looked as though he was ready to be ill at this command, but followed through silently. Yaxley, who had been levitating the heart of Mallory for him, passed it to him and he dropped first his knife into his flagon, then the heart. Much the same frothing and smoking occurred, with the shudders in the air echoing through them once more. Yaxley and Rabastan both assisted him from either side as he struggled to drink the mixture down. The outline of the short silver knife glowed in the flagon brighter and brighter with each gulp, matched by a glow coming from his chest, until Rodolphus, too, exhaled, collapsed, and reanimated.

"Yaxley, you're up."

The two other Death Eaters stood back, allowing Dolohov to take over on his own with helping his friend down the potion in which Claudia's heart was infused. The snuffbox rattled in its flagon as its glow brightened to the threshold, and when Yaxley was finished, he reached an arm around Dolohov to be pulled to his feet.

"And that just leaves...me."

He waited for them to ask, and Yaxley did not disappoint.

"You haven't yet told us what you're using, or whose heart. Have you already done it, or...?"

"No. Well, not entirely. Mine is already prepared. Ahem."

Dolohov moved to the back end of the room, a far wall where the light from the candles did not reach. Though it would have been illuminated in previous flashes of light, no one would have noticed it with their attention on the current Horcrux creations. Dolohov lit his wand, now drawing attention to a fourth chair placed out of the way, and sitting in it was the corpse of a fourth victim. The Death Eaters made quiet sounds of recognition as the light passed over his face.

"My father, Daniil Dolohov. He taught me everything I know, instilled in me every value I hold. My dear papa, I'm sorry you had to die, but I am so happy you furthered the cause in the way you have."

Daniil looked extremely like his son, albeit with more facial hair and hollowed eyes and cheeks. Were he still alive, and not an hour dead, he might simply be an older version of his son. Daniil had supported Voldemort during the first war, been one of his closest supporters, even one of his original circle of friends in school. Now he could rest easy knowing his son was carrying on the pureblood ideals and death-defying convictions of his master.

"Observe."

The first flick of his wand brought Daniil's pale, stiff hand outward from the chair arm it rested on, and the thick silver ring with an onyx set into it sliding off of his middle finger. It landed in Dolohov's hand. Sheathing his wand for a second, he prepared a flagon of the black soul-separation potion, and dropped the ring in. Another flick of his retrieved wand, and there was a crunching noise, then a crumbling noise, like sand sliding off of something. His wandlight illuminated his father's corpse rapidly disintegrating around the chest, exposing a heart that quickly floated out of the cavity once it was free to do so--still vividly red and pulsing. Carefully levitating it into position, it too was dropped into the flagon, and Dolohov was now prepared to make his own Horcrux.

"Alright. Welcome, my loyal Death Eaters, to a new world!"

He brought the neon-green potion to his lips, and began to drink, gulping down the fluid even as his vision went white.


	4. News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August 05, 1998, a few days later...

"Harry! Look out!"

Harry whirled around, just in time for his wand to fly out of his hand. No sooner had one of the vigilantes caught it than a Stunner hit him straight in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Harry leapt forward and kicked out at another who went reaching for his wand as it clattered across the dirt, successfully snatching it up and using it to Stun him, too.

"Be more careful." Ron was chiding him, collecting the wand the first had used to cast the Disarming Charm.

"You think we should just Stun all of them?"

"No, I think we're supposed to just bind them up."

He and Ron were on another venture with an accompaniment of Aurors, this time without any direct supervision. Their mission this time had been to put down and arrest a group of wizards who had taken it upon themselves to go on a hunt for rogue Death Eaters, an already foolish and dangerous idea before intel had told them that it was also headed down the dangerous path of werewolf hunting. The other Aurors were searching the house now; while Harry and Ron began using _Incarcerous_ to tie up any remaining conscious and mobile hostiles, the front door was opened. As they watched, the others who had come with them began leaving the house in pairs, each with a wizard walking between them in manacles.

"Look, I think that's him." Harry said, nudging Ron and jerking his head towards the latest escorted wizard. Another man was being carried out, also in chains, though these looked noticeably more shoddy and crudely constructed. He looked very scared, not to mention his face bore several bruises. It would seem that this was the alleged werewolf the vigilantes had taken it upon themselves and capture. The two of them strode over.

"Is he all right?" Harry asked.

"He'll be fine." one of the senior Aurors told him without looking at him. "Go and flag down the Knight Bus."

Frowning, Harry and Ron retreated over to the road, and after making sure that no one was on it (or too close to the edge, in any case), Ron flung his arm out.

_BANG!_

The violently purple triple-decker bus came hurtling down the street, skidding to a stop in front of the house. The Aurors that were holding arrested wizards began to file up in front of the door.

"Oi, who's paying for all of this?" Ron said, looking as though he regretted summoning the bus.

"Already paid for, kid." said a balding Auror who was closest in the line. "Fastest, safest way to get groups of people or invalids to a place they need to go, so the Department of Magical Law Enforcement commissions 'em regularly."

"They're not going to _Azkaban_?" Harry asked the same man, remembering something the bus' conductor, Stan Shunpike, had once told him about the Knight Bus being confined to land.

"What?" the man replied, looking a bit bewildered. "No, they'll be taken to a Ministry holding cell. We'd use Floo Powder, but there's been problems with the network lately. We don't waste Azkaban cells on daft men like this, it'd take longer to get them there than they'd spend in the cell."

That thought should've filled Harry with relief, though he couldn't stop his eyes flickering towards Stan Shunpike, whose silhouette was visible in a window as he greeted each detainee and their escorts and got them their arrangements. After what had happened to him in the past two years, he wouldn't have blamed the conductor if he'd refused the Ministry service. He should probably go and say hello. The last time he had seen Stan, it had been in a high-speed chase where the latter had been brainwashed into trying to kill him. But first...

"Um..."

There were still two senior Aurors questioning the werewolf, who still looked rather uncomfortable and unaccommodated. Harry strode over, curious how long it could take them to find out everything they needed to know about this matter and why he was still manacled.

"You know you can take the chains off of him, right?"

The Auror who had previously dismissed Harry finally turned to look at him, with an odd expression on his face as though Harry had just delivered some bizarre non-sequitur he was not sure how to respond to. He looked back at the wizard he was questioning, then after a moment, took his wand out (the man looked rather alarmed at this) and tapped it against the chains holding his wrists together, which broke and fell to the ground.

"Alright, now go get on the bu--" the senior officer started, clearly ready to send him out of the way again, but Harry didn't let him finish.

"Oh, piss off." he said, frustration finally suffusing his voice. "Why don't _you_ get on the bus? He hasn't got a wand, I can take it from here."

"You stinking little--"

"Let's go, Barrow." said the man's partner in a warning voice. "It's not that important. Let's just finish this before you give Kingsley's new favorite a reason to complain."

Fuming, Barrow was led by his partner onto the bus. By now, Harry and Ron were the only ones outside, to the tune of impatient foot-tapping from Stan.

"Here." Harry said, taking out his own wand, noting how the man flinched even worse when it was pointed at his face. " _Episkey_."

The wizard's eyes were screwed up, but the bruises on his face slowly faded one by one as the spell took effect.

"What's your name?"

Harry noted that the wizard took his time opening his eyes, and they flicked several times between him, Ron, and the rest of the Aurors on the Knight Bus. Harry noted that he wasn't that old, probably not much older than him and Ron, and he had a tired look about him even without sign of injury that Harry thought looked very familiar.

"...Martin Mendling."

"Well, c'mon Martin, we'll get you properly fixed up and then you can go home."

The trip to the Ministry did not take long. The Knight Bus ended up in a narrow alleyway just barely wide enough to contain the bus that he didn't recognize (he noted that the walls did not squeeze to allow them passage, nor did the one trash can jump out of the way as usual, making him a tad nervous). There were lights placed in a single line spaced along the tunnel, but otherwise nothing of note except a door on either side set into the concrete. One of them read "Emergency Exit Only", which Harry noted to be the one the detainees and the escorting Aurors were filing out into. He guessed that, like St. Mungo's, this was an obscure, indistinct entry point for what must be holding cells.

"Come on, lads." came the voice of the man who had reprimanded Barrow, motioning for Harry and Ron to follow them.

"What's going to happen to this one?" Ron said loudly, jerking his thumb at Mendling, who occupied the window seat next to Harry and looked particularly morose.

"He'll be checked over for signs of Dark magic, looked up on the Werewolf Register, and then run through system for any criminal activity." he said, as though this were obvious. "Hurry up, now."

Hesitantly, Harry got up, looking to Mendling, who waited until he had nodded to do the same. He followed them out of the bus, and through the emergency exit door. On entering the grimy white-brick hall that lay beyond, they walked past several doors and were stopped in front of one, identical to the others in that it was gray, cobwebbed at the edges, and rusted. Ron and Harry looked at each other uneasily. The two of them were greeted when the door opened by a large, scarred, monocled wizard in a heavy cloak. Visible on his robes underneath was a badge that bore the Ministry of Magic insignia and underneath it read "RCMC": Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

"That'll do. You two get back to work." he said, taking Mendling by the shoulder, who looked back at the two Junior Aurors with a rather grim expression before the door was closed behind him.

"Well..." Ron said uncertainly, fidgeting.

Barrow and his waspy colleague might mock him for it, but Harry was indeed going to complain to Kingsley, or at least ask him to keep an eye out for someone called Martin Mendling.

* * *

The rest of the day passed without event, and Harry and Ron were let off at four o'clock. Their hours, they had been told, would change once they were formally instated as trained and qualified Aurors, but for now, their trainee schedule afforded them the chance to meet up with Hermione, who naturally was excelling at having all of her work done well before her break. They now sat waiting for her at an outside table at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, which had been taken over by the late Florean's niece. While Ron looked over the _Daily Prophet_ , Harry was rereading a letter that had reached him that morning, from Andromeda Tonks:

_Dear Harry,_

_First, congratulations on officially entering the Ministry. Many wizards would be jealous to achieve their dream at such a young age, and I believe you've well earned it. Please present my compliments to Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger as well._

_Second, I would like to inform you that I've been doing much better. It's been difficult to focus on grief with the demands of a four-month-old, and when Teddy sleeps, I indulge in a few ways I've found to remember my husband and daughter happily. Ginny has been a great help and was the one to suggest some sort of enshrinement; we decided on a garden. When next you come by (although I'd never ask you to step away from your work), please do give it a look._

_Teddy has been thriving. There are no signs of lycanthropy, though I'll be continuing to check in with Healers on the matter, and his Metamorphmagus abilities are incredible. I'll show him pictures of my cousins or uncles, and he'll stare at them for a moment before trying to mimic the face he sees. Ginny provided a picture of you once, and the results made her laugh quite a bit._

_I am considering visiting Devon soon. Provided I would not intrude, perhaps I could bring Teddy over to see you and yours, rather than ask you to come all this way. I know I am a virtual stranger to you and the rest of the Weasley family, but I think perhaps in the wake of a war in which we've all lost loved ones, some community might do us good. I'll correspond with Molly and Arthur and see if we can arrange something._

_Until such time as we see each other again, take care of yourself! Stay safe! You-Know-Who's forces are still out there, and many will be desperate to harm you in some way. I'll be wishing you luck and health._

_Sincerely,_

_Andromeda_

Harry smiled, happy to know that things were going better for the woman. In the weeks directly following the Battle of Hogwarts, grief had ruled the country. Losing Remus and Tonks had been devastating, and his desire to see them again so desperate that Harry was glad he had rid himself of the Resurrection Stone before temptation could take him again. In the sea of funerals and memorials and shaking tears and awful numbness, he had unfortunately overlooked Andromeda for some time, not having known her very well. It must have been all the worse for her to lose Sirius, Remus, Ted, and her daughter all in short succession, on top of being tortured, and Harry had lamented that his first proper interaction with his godson and the woman caring for him had been in the wake of his orphaning. Much turmoil had followed about his duties as a godfather to an infant, but Andromeda had assured him that she would not need help. Harry, though he could not imagine how he would at seventeen years of age assist a grieving, widowing mother in the care of her grandchild, nonetheless thought that he should do _something_ , as she had most certainly had not fit the picture of 'not needing help', disheveled and obviously traumatized to an extent that, however much she tried to hide it, had shown plainly.

To everyone's surprise, it was Ginny that had volunteered to go stay at the Tonks home for the summer. She had always liked Tonks, having looked up to her the way she might have looked up to an older sister. This way, she had reasoned to Harry, Andromeda would get the help she needed while Harry was able to focus on bringing down Dark wizards. Harry also thought that perhaps, being the youngest child of her family, she had always wanted the opportunity to play the role of older sibling. And with her bright, warm smile that he so fondly remembered, he was sure that she was perfect for the job, and it seemed that, so far, she had performed phenomenally.

"Hey, you two."

Hermione had arrived. She pulled up a chair at the table, just at the same time as a waitress arrived with a bowl of sumptuous ice cream for each of them. Harry and Ron greeted her, each putting away their papers and preparing to eat, but she stopped them, passing Harry an envelope and turning to Ron.

"Harry, your mail. Ron, did you see it? In the news?"

"Yeah." Ron said darkly, and on Harry's questioning look, he turned to a page in the newspaper he was holding and passed it to him. He set the letter he'd been given to the side and examined the paper while Hermione peered at it from the edge of the table.

"What the--?"

Harry was staring at a section of the newspaper that was in color vibrant enough he was shocked he hadn't seen it through the back of the paper when Ron was reading it. An entire half a page was taken up by news underneath a heading titled with the name of Xenophilius Lovegood's magazine.

"Yes--by the way, Ron, you don't have to pay for this anymore." Hermione said, advising him over her shoulder. "Luna's gotten all three of us a free subscription to the _Prophet_ since her dad managed to get a column in their paper. But that's not the important part, look!" she said, turning back to Harry and pointing.

In a tiny portion of the paper at the bottom edge of the half not reserved for the _Quibbler_ 's column, was a heading that read: _Skeeter Pens New Biography_

Harry instantly felt a flash of anger lighting his whole body. Rita Skeeter? _Again_? He read the rest of the very short entry aloud.

_"Continuing her trend of immortalizing the headmasters of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in their full glory while stripping away the veils on their dark sides, Skeeter again announces a new biography to enthrall her readers, this time of the late Severus Snape (office 1997-1998). Eager readers have hungered for an abnormally long time for this piece, which has taken a full three months to prepare in contrast to Skeeter's usual blinding speed of one. What secrets could the Death Eater-turned professor-turned traitor be hiding, and how well were they hidden? These questions would be clawing at the brains of any readership well before taking into account the events of a short but bloody war that has rocked the entire Wizarding World; Skeeter's last venture in book writing was the bestselling biography titled The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, which delved into the secrets of Hogwarts' most famous, powerful, and accomplished Headmaster to date, who occupied the office for roughly thirty years. With her eye of late on the vastly shorter but tumultuous reign of Snape, Skeeter promises her audience a follow-up to her magnum opus that will leave them open-mouthed in shock and eagerly devouring her work.'_

"That _cockroach!_ " Harry burst out in rage. "You can't get _rid_ of her!"

"What's she even going to tell people?" Ron asked, being the first to stab a spoon into their softening ice cream. "The whole world already knows Snape was a Death Eater, killed Dumbledore, and worked for Voldemort. What exactly is she going to shock the gossips with?"

"Well, I doubt she's going to spend her time telling the Muriels of the world what a good person Snape was." Harry said. "Not that I'd be thrilled if she did. Whatever she digs up is guaranteed to be lies."

"It's not all bad." Hermione said, though she looked as though she had swallowed a beetle. "It's taken her as long as it has because I got fed up and told the rest of Law Enforcement that she's an unregistered Animagus. Not to mention, McGonagall's banned her from the Hogwarts premises, banned any students from speaking to her for any reason, and banned anything written by her. The only problem is that she shouldn't even have been able to get publicity for this, the _Prophet_ aren't supposed to host her anymore."

"So how's she still at large?"

"Nobody's had time to go after her, what with all of the Death Eaters still on the loose. Post-war Britain has become a breeding ground for crooks and thieves who coast by while the law's attention is on more serious threats. Still, I thought I'd make sure you knew about it--I've heard tell she also wants to write a biography about _you_ , Harry. So feel welcome to tell Kingsley you have something in mind for your next assignment."

Harry's mouth opened in horror and rage at these words, but he closed it shortly after. Yes, the thought of putting a stop to Rita and throwing her in prison before she could pen some obviously garbage nonsense about him was admittedly very appealing, though he'd have to do it inbetween the actually dangerous missions.

"But enough about that, Harry, what's in the letter?"

Harry's attention turned back to the letter Hermione had given him. 'To Harry Potter, Auror Office, Department of Magical Law Enforcement' was written in the center. The name in the top left, though, shocked him, as it read 'Narcissa Malfoy'.

"Malfoy..." Harry muttered, turning the envelope over and slitting it open. "When did you get this, and why didn't it come to me?"

"It _did_ come to you, Harry, it was in your office." Hermione said.

"I have an office?" Harry asked, bewildered. "Since when?"

"Since one was set up for you this morning shortly after you left. I'll show it to you when we go in tomorrow, but go on, what does it say?"

Harry opened the letter and read aloud:

_"Dear Potter,_

_I was displeased to find that my home was attacked while I was away. Had I been present, I would have been able to assist you in your investigation of our home. As I understand it, everything on the gallery catalogues is still present, yet something unlisted was stolen. I happen to know that the stolen object was a silver knife that belonged to my sister, Bellatrix. I took great pains to have it returned here when it found its way onto the pawn market, as I suspect it may be dangerous to our reputation as well as in some way dangerous to handlers. You may correspond with me at your convenience, as I have some ideas about who may have taken it, yet they are unlikely. Please see this item returned to our manor as soon as you are able._

_Narcissa Malfoy"_

He looked up, sure that the expression on his face matched the uneasy ones on Ron's and Hermione's.

"Bellatrix's knife?"

A memory came to him of a house elf, shuddering in his arms, an ornate handle protruding from his chest, wide eyes wet and glassy, staring past him.

"That's why it wasn't in the catalogue." Ron said, "they probably wanted it out of sight, out of mind."

"But why would Death Eaters take it?" Hermione asked. " 'Dangerous to handlers'? I doubt there's any curses on it--Bellatrix tortured me with that knife, they'd have found any traces of dark magic on it when they...when they looked me over."

Bad memories were clearly plaguing them all. Harry tried to remember what had been done with the knife after he had removed it from Dobby's chest. It had laid on the ground...someone must have retrieved it, likely Bill or Fleur, who would've had it checked for dark magic and then quickly gotten rid of it as soon as they were able. That blade was an ugly, awful memory, but Harry couldn't see what more it could be than that. In the grand list of objects that had some notable property or value, it seemed like just another object.

"Well, at least now we know who to look for in the next investigation." Harry said. "Bellatrix was married, wasn't she?"


	5. Rats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same day...

"I've got four more for you, sir."

"Thank you, Travers."

The sixth and newest member of their little revived band of Death Eaters slipped back out of the door he came, leaving the four of them alone in the den. Yaxley sniffed.

"I hope you're doing something worthwhile with these Muggles, Dolohov." he complained. "If it weren't you, I'd never have even thought of allowing them in my house, even in chains."

"What I do with them isn't any of your concern, Yaxley." Dolohov answered, taking a sip from his aged firewhiskey. Really, dealing with his occasional whining was worth it for the cellar full of finely crafted drink. "Rest assured they won't be dirtying the place up too long, if things go the way I need them to."

"The next part of the plan, what is it?" Rodolphus inquired. "You mentioned something big was coming up."

"I'm still working on the 'something big'." Dolohov answered. "You'll hear about that when I'm ready to tell you. For now, our next move involves the three of you finding me a rat."

"...Excuse me?"

"The thing we need to get our plans in motion is our very own Wormtail."

"Wormtail?" Yaxley said, incredulous. "That sniveling, conniving backstabbing disease? Why on earth would you want one of those among our ranks?"

"I want someone on the _inside_." Dolohov said carefully, downing his glass and holding it out close to the ground for the resident house elf to dutifully refill. "Someone on the blood traitors' side, someone with connections to get us information and resources. The only reason our Lord returned to us was because of that disease's resourcefulness. And like Pettigrew, I want the person who aids us to be easily controlled. Someone who will be easily cowed by fear. Haven't any of you realized who among the Order of the Phoenix fits that description?"

Blank looks from the other three gave him all the answer he needed.

"Right, well, think, the three of you. Yaxley, you worked closely with Dolores Umbridge during your time as head of the Ministry's law enforcement. Don't you remember her confiscating some piece of jewelry or other off of some sneak thief? Tell me his name again."

Yaxley's brow furrowed. "Uhh. Lord, Dolohov, asking me to remember that...Mendigo? Mungulus?"

"Mundungus?" Dolohov prompted.

"That's the one." Yaxley answered with a finger snap. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"That'll have been Mundungus Fletcher. Remember, Rodolphus? He was in Azkaban with us up til 1997, something about impersonating an Inferius."

"Moaning and groaning his life away next to my cell." Rodolphus said, closing his eyes as though the very memory gave him a headache. "Made for a better ghost than a corpse, that one. You're not saying you think he's an Order member, though, are you? You'd have to be joking..."

"No..." came Yaxley's voice, with a dawning realization.

"Yep. He was that sneak thief that came to the Black House after we were stationed there." Dolohov said. "I recognized him from our stint in prison together. He's faster than he looks, and sharper, too. He recognized me before I recognized him, and split. I imagine he probably came to find one last valuable heirloom to sell off, the place was already so cleaned out. Or maybe he'd gotten into a spot of trouble and assumed that the house was still a hideout for the Order where he could be safe."

"Bloody..." Rodolphus murmured, running a hand through his hair. "And you know what? One of the Potters on the night we ambushed him in Surrey Disapparated faster than you could blink, it was the one on Moody's broom. I'll bet it was that gutless little tramp under all the Polyjuice."

"That's a sucker's bet." Dolohov answered. "If he really is an Order member, it's doubtful they'll want anything to do with him, but he'll at least be able to occupy their network without tipping them off. More than that, I'm interested in someone with enough connections to get us the resources we can't get any longer on the average wizard's market. Merlin knows we can't go to Diagon Alley anymore. So that's our first order of business. I want you two," he said, turning to the Lestrange brothers, "to find Mundungus Fletcher and bring him here. Yaxley, you're the best at the Imperius Curse, so you'll be in charge of him for a little while, until I've got other tasks for you, understand?"

Yaxley straightened up. "Consider it done...my lord."

 _'My lord'...that doesn't sound right on me,_ he thought _. Yet, at least. I could get used to it._

The brothers stood up from the table, and Dolohov with them.

"Before I send you two on your way, do we all have our Horcruxes well-hidden, or on hand? And well-protected magically?"

Rabastan and Yaxley nodded, while Rodolphus pointed to a knife holster newly sewn for him by Yaxley's elf. Dolohov's own Horcrux now hung against his chest from a chain under his robes. As he understood it, the Lestrange and Yaxley houses were more than large enough to hide some small object or other. Once the bigger parts of their plan were underway, though, he was going to have to help them set up some proper defensive measures. That, on top of the invention he was trying to perfect with all of the Muggle filth a floor beneath them.

"Good. The two of you can go. I've got some investigating to do, and some tests to run."

Just then, the door to the den opened, and this time it was Selwyn who opened it, face excited, despite a bite mark on it that could be seen from ten feet away.

"I found six more, my lord! I wasn't too rough with 'em, like you said, but one did struggle. I got 'em down in the basement for you!"

"Thank you, Selwyn."

Yaxley's head dropped onto the table in further disgust, and he gripped his glass of firewhisky hard.

"Ruggy," Dolohov heard him say to the house elf, "get me more firewhisky. And a cigar."

* * *

Mundungus Fletcher was having a very bad day already. He was quite sure he was being followed, and even for debt collectors, these men were unusually stubborn. Fletcher never paid off if he could escape or hoodwink them, but he needed to lose these creeps very quickly. He hadn't sold well today, and so had no extra Galleons to give them even if he'd wanted to. He was usually able to secure some leprechaun gold and then quickly Confund the collectors to think they'd already performed the check to see if it was real, but to do that he needed to get to his local leprechaun dealer, and he wouldn't be able to do that with anyone breathing down his neck.

Quite interestingly enough, these men did not seem interested in confrontation. He was quite sure he knew which ones were the collectors, because he kept seeing them behind him or out of the corner of his eye, no matter which street he crossed or which alleyway he took. That they were hanging back was perhaps more unsettling than if they had done the usual and run after him, yelling for someone to 'grab that tramp'.

As he descended down a very dark alleyway and slid himself through a very narrow gap between walls, retreating from a collector who'd been a mere twenty feet from him that time, he figured it might be time to leave Britain, or at least get out of London for a while. However--

"Ergh--! Oi, geroff--!"

His wand arm had been grabbed. He had strode right into a man much taller than himself, who was now staring down at him with a cold smile. Mundungus felt fear like ice dropping into his stomach and spreading from there. The man had dark hair, but that was all that Mundungus could tell before his features started to change. The eyes, which appeared at first bright blue, were muting down to a dark green. The nose was lengthening somewhat, and the dark hair was going grey in a streak towards the front. Behind him in the small alley, there was another man, somewhat shorter, whose features were un-blurring to match.

"Ge' the hell off me, you stinkin' piece o'--"

He failed to finish the sentence, as there was a wand pointed between his eyes. Who was this? It was no debt collector, but it couldn't angry members of the Order, could it? Were they still mad about that, more than a year later? What the hell kind of grudges did these people hold? Unless they were...

"Shhh. _Imperio_."

Mundungus immediately felt his questions, threats, and pleading leave him. Who these men were didn't matter, everything was fine. Though fear still sat chilling him from within, the edge was taken off, as a powerful sense of contentment and obedience took over in his head.

"Now, what were you up to before now?" came the slightly rasping voice of the man holding his arm.

"Wos' headin'...headin' down to Knockturn Alley. Had some things to buy." Mundungus answered, calmly but hesitating as his original plans were overwritten with vague ones he had not fully decided on yet.

"Good. You can do that, after you come back with us to see our boss. How's that sound?"

"It sounds good." Mundungus answered simply.

"Then you'll be following us, won't you? There's a Floo fireplace nearby, and it should be about safe to use it right about now. So why don't you lead us over to it?"

"You're having too much fun with this, Dolph." came the quiet voice of the second man, as Mundungus' wrist was released by the first man and his wand confiscated.

"And so what if I am? Dolohov told me I needed to _practice_." the first man said, with a look of irritation. "Besides, he's not going to be under it forever, so I might as well have fun."

"Why isn't he? I thought he was some big instrument we needed."

'Dolph' shrugged. "The new boss said that he's working on something special for him, it's what all the Muggles are in the basement for. Something about 'overextending ourselves'. Bullshit, if you ask me. He's up to something to make the little rat squirm and sweat. Fear's easier on the wand arm to control people with."

"He might want this fellow's mind left intact." warned the second man. "You know what prolonged or badly-done Imperius does to brains. A gibbering, drooling madman is hardly going to be any use to us."

"Well, then let's hurry up and get him to the _expert_." Dolph said, visibly more irritated now. "You, come on."

Mundungus smiled vacantly as he led them over to a fireplace at the back of the alley and took some Floo Powder from a hole set in the wall. He dropped it at his feet, declaring "Yaxley House", and vanished in a puff of green flame.

He came out of the grate of a darkened living room, lit by the fire he'd just come out of and a couple lamps. A cursory glance around the room told him that, were he here to steal, he'd have very much liked to be in here. Ahead of him were a couple cushioned stools and a handsome varnished wooden coffee table bearing goblets that looked about the same quality as those he'd stolen from the Black House. A grand sofa sat opposite the table, and on either side of it were extremely cozy-looking armchairs. Each one was occupied. On the one to Mundungus' right as a wizard with golden-blond hair and a heavy brow, as well as a thick jaw, that combined with a slight tinge of age gave him the look of some sort of mob boss, an image cemented by the cigar hanging out of the right side of his mouth and the fine suit, slacks, and shoes he was wearing. In the armchair on the left was a wizard with dark hair and a pale, pointed, twisted face, with stubble lining his jaw. He was dressed far more traditionally in wizard's robes and simple shoes, though the ring he was wearing visible on his right middle finger was bigger and more grandiose than the smaller silver ones on his companion's hands. Bustling between them was a house elf with a crooked nose, wide, flattened ears, and a curiously mottled appearance to his skin.

"Urgh!"

Mundungus was shunted forward by a man coming out of the grate behind him. An aggravated growl told him that it was 'Dolph'. He politely moved forward a bit so that the second man who had cornered him could also come out of the grate. He stood still, then, waiting for further instruction. The two wizards from before stood behind him to either side, and as he watched, both the wizards in the armchairs stood up.

A prod at his back was accompanied by a sudden desire to stride forward and stand a pace away from the coffee table. The two wizards walked around the coffee table to stand before him, and Mundungus saw that the dark-haired one was much taller than either the blond one or himself.

"I want him kneeling."

The voice came from the dark-haired one, and was again accompanied by a sudden desire to do exactly as told, which he obeyed since he saw no reason not to. The pit of ice in his stomach seemed to gnaw at him, but he ignored it.

"Answer honestly." Said the dark-haired, pale-faced wizard, peering down at him, and Mundungus met his eyes and saw that they were grey. They held no pity nor anger nor malice, but a mild interest. "Your name is Mundungus Fletcher?"

"Yes." he answered robotically.

"You were a member of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Yes." he repeated.

"You have information on the whereabouts or movements of current Order members? On Harry Potter?"

"Harry Potter is in training to become an Auror with the Ministry, and stays at the Burrow every night. Everyone knows that."

The grey eyes narrowed in annoyance, though Mundungus kept the vague smile on his face, unaffected. "Could've figured that one out myself. I'll pick the rest of your brain later, I've got work to do. Corban, he's yours. Rodolphus, lift the curse."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the layer of serenity and blind comfort slid off of his brain like a cloth, and the ice-like fear spread its claws through the rest of his body, his throat tightening. These were...these men were Death Eaters! He recognized their faces from the wanted posters! He was in a house full of Death Eaters! Whimpering, he became aware of two wands at his back. No one said anything, least of all Mundungus himself. His jaw locked together and tears burned at his eyelids as he tried to decide whether to scream or run or beg. He had no wand... He was about to die, or be tortured, surely...

"Oh, _good_." Yaxley said as Dolohov strode past him and left the room. "Ugly, but smart. _Ruggy_."

Mundungus did not dare move as the house elf returned into view, pushing forward a smaller chair like might have been used at a desk. Mundungus recoiled slightly as the elf neared him. The pockmarks he had previously taken as some simple elvish skin mottling were, now that he looked up close, actually large cigar burns. They covered him from head to toe. Yaxley sat down on the chair, leaning forward and observing him.

"I hope you're as useful as Dolohov made you out to be, filth. You'll have some things to do for us once he gets back, but until then..."

"P-Please..." he gasped out, eyes darting around frantically, seeing the only exit to the room much too far away and on the other side of the Death Eater, and the fireplace blocked by the two behind him. "L-Let me go...I'll give you money, you can have my wand or my clothes, I'll--"

" _Quit your groveling_."

The Death Eater took a drag off of his cigar.

"Rats like you aren't fit to lick the bottom of my shoes." Yaxley drawled through a cloud of smoke, crossing one leg over the opposite knee and extending a polished boot. "But someone has to, so get started."


	6. Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week later...

"I'm starting to really miss the stupid rich-people mansions, yanno."

Harry deeply agreed with this sentiment. They had spent the past week searching home after home; quite unfortunately, their only lead was the Lestrange family, who as a whole, despite being of the same wealthy pureblood elite class that counted the Malfoys and Yaxleys, did not own any single large manor home. They had a much larger selection of possible areas in which to find and question Rodolphus Lestrange, who was still at large, comprising everything from fairly expensive, well-cared for, but still relatively modest houses, to shacks on hillsides. Depressingly, over the last week they had talked to many family members and associates of the clan, and not one had been able to tell them the whereabouts of Rodolphus Lestrange. Many had been able to tell them to choke to death on various body parts, however.

"You know," Harry said slowly as they trod down the road towards the Ministry entrance with their fellow Aurors, "it's a little weird, isn't it? How we don't have to fight more Death Eaters."

"Weird? _More_? Harry, we got attacked three times just looking for that one lunatic. Most people would think that was a bit above the average."

"I know," Harry said impatiently, "but think about all the Death Eaters that were being rounded up while we were doing our studies. The Aurors were having two duels a day. It's cooled down a lot suddenly..."

"What are you saying?" Ron asked. "You think something's up? I just figured most of them got into hiding. It's about time, Voldemort was killed more than three months ago."

"Maybe..."

They filed into the elevator, descending past the Atrium and stopping at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where the Auror Office was waiting. Hermione was not here today; she was splitting her time interning between the Departments of Law Enforcement and the Department of International Magical Cooperation; as she hoped to be a serious force of legislation in the future, she would need experience in both, though according to her, she would most likely end up near their offices this time next year.

"Potter--Potter!"

On his way to his office (he was still coasting on residual excitement of having one), he was stopped by an older Auror he didn't recognize. The man strode over, panting, and held out an envelope.

"Kingsley told me to get this to you. There should be a warrant in there. It was supposed to get to you yesterday, but what with all the searching for Lestrange, it got lost. Here."

Harry took the envelope eagerly. Unfolding the parchment that was inside, he read off a note.

_Potter,_

_Enclosed is the arrest warrant for Rita Skeeter on charges of failure to register as an Animagus and various illegal tampering. I've arranged with one of our men to hold an interview with her for her new book, without her knowing he's an Auror. He's due to meet her tomorrow at 12:30 for lunch at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, and will be expecting you to arrive and carry out the arrest. Make sure you keep your wands and your wits about you. I doubt she'll be much trouble, but you never know with these journalist types._

_Kingsley_

_12:30...?_ he thought. What time was it? Looking at his wrist, which still bore Fabian's old watch that had been gifted to him last year, he determined that it was now 1:17. Panicking somewhat, he checked the date on the envelope. It was indeed dated as August 11th.

"Ron, Ron! Ron, get over here, we need to leave _now!_ "

"What?!"

Ron came stumbling out of his own adjacent office, hurriedly stuffing some of his own mail into the breast pocket of his new cloak and struggling to get his wand out.

"What's the matter? Where are we going?"

"Hogsmeade." Harry said breathlessly. "We need to go now, an interview with Skeeter started forty-five minutes ago, we can catch her if we're quick."

" _Now?_ Blimey, you'd think they'd give us a little advance notice. Is it just us?"

"Yes, now come on, grab on."

Ron took hold of his arm and followed his lead as Harry Disapparated on the spot. A constricting swirl of color and space later, they were standing in front of the doors to the Wizarding village's most popular inn. No sooner had they touched down than Harry had taken out his wand and dragged it through the air in an arc across the space in front of him, layering an Anti-Disapparition Jinx across the property. Once that was done, he and Ron strolled inside, both with wands at the ready.

As per usual for lunchtime in the middle of the week, the place was packed. Every table was taken up, and there were plenty of people milling about that weren't able to find a seat. Despite the continual presence of a haze of chatter suiting a crowd of this size, a noticeable ripple went through the patrons as they noticed cloaked and armed men entering the pub, who strode forward and began scanning the room and everyone in it. Rita's fashionable-bordering-on-tacky look should have made her stand out in this place as though it were flashing neon, and undoubtedly she would have had a table for two set aside for her interview, but Harry quickly determined with several double-checks that she was not anywhere in the pub's main den. Turning towards Ron, whose face bore a look of nervousness, he jerked his thumb at the bar, where one Madame Rosmerta was pouring mead.

"Excuse me," Ron said hurriedly as they hit the bar at a near-jog, startling some of the wizards drinking on the stools to either side of them, "there's supposed to be an interview being held here right now. Rita Skeeter?"

Rosmerta paused in her pouring, glancing up at Ron. There was silence for a moment while her eyes traveled from him to Harry, then back again. She seemed to have been caught by surprise and took a moment answering, and then only after finishing off the drink and sliding it down the bar.

"Rita Skeeter?"

"Yes, ma'am." Harry said, a tad impatiently as his nerves began to mount. "Former reporter from the _Daily Prophet_? Blonde, jeweled glasses, weird quill...?"

"Oh, her." Rosmerta said slowly. "Yes, I'm afraid she left just a few minutes ago, boys. Packed up her purse and left."

Harry's heart sank, and his teeth grit together.

"The man she was interviewing--is he still here?"

"I...yes, I think so. I didn't see him leave." she said, and following her gaze, Harry turned behind him to find a table with only one occupant, a balding, somewhat wizard he didn't recognize. "What's all of this about, boys? I take it you're not going to stay and have a drink? Everyone here would love to meet--"

"Thank you," Harry interrupted curtly, "we won't be long."

Turning away from the bar and striding off through the pub, Harry paused midway when he could be sure other patrons were sufficiently in the way to hide small movements. Meeting Ron's eye, Harry then jerked his head first at the far end of the room, where a men's bathroom lay, then at the ceiling, beyond which were rooms rented by the night. He doubted that Rosmerta would ever act against them, or in the interest of any criminals, but they had to be thorough. Ron nodded and retreated to the bathroom, from which he could safely and unobservedly cast the right spells to reveal Rita if she were still here. Harry, meanwhile, made his way towards the balding wizard.

He coughed loudly when he had reached the table, and the man, indistinguishable from any other wizard, looked up.

"Oh! Hello, Harry."

"Hi." Harry said, irritation seeping through. "Were you just here with Skeeter?"

"Oh, yes. She just left a few minutes ago."

" _I know_." Harry said, baring his teeth. "Weren't you supposed to keep her here until we got here to arrest her?"

"I..." The wizard frowned, and then went very red. "I...yes, I suppose I was..."

Ron was striding up to the table now, looking vaguely nauseous.

"No Rita." he said. "Saw plenty of things I didn't need to, though. Oi, you." he said, directing his attention to the Auror. "Explain."

"Oh, hello, umm....?"

"Ron, Ron Weasley!" Ron snapped. "And you're Wiggins, right? You call this an arrest? Skeeter just walked out of here! You were supposed to detain her until we got here, what happened?"

"Ahh..." Wiggins said, looking appropriately abashed. "She was asking me questions about Snape, and I answered 'em, and I suppose I just sort of...forgot?"

"Forgot...?" Harry echoed, a strangled noised escaping his throat as he fought the urge to wring similar noises from Wiggins here. "You--! I--!"

"Do _any_ of you plan on being helpful _at all?!_ " snarled Ron. Wiggins seemed to shrink in his seat. Harry eyed the drink sitting on the table; by appearances, a gillywater.

"Come here." Harry said, uncaring of the eyes being drawn towards them by their berating. From within his Cloak, he withdrew a Probity Probe. After a short wave up and down Wiggins' torso, there was nothing detected, but Harry wasn't convinced yet, and replaced it only to point his wand at the man's mouth. " _Open_."

Wiggins obediently opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. Harry pointed the tip of his wand directly at it and said " _Cognoscendo_ ".

A small, dart-like jet of white light was spit from the tip of his wand and onto Wiggins' tongue, and immediately resurfaced as a small plume of gray smoke.

"I knew it." Harry said, withdrawing himself. "He drank some potion or other. Probably Veritaserum, she's been known to use it before."

" _Why didn't you check your drink?!_ " Ron demanded. "Aren't you a senior Auror? You should know better!"

"Let's go, Ron. People are starting to stare." Harry said in disgust.

People were indeed watching them as Harry, dragging the protesting wizard out of his seat and out of the pub, left with Ron in tow. After quickly dispelling the Anti-Disapparition Jinx he had previously cast, Harry told Ron to meet him back at the Auror Office, after which he made sure Wiggins had his wand and other important effects before Side-Along-ing him to St. Mungo's and directing him to sign in and get himself checked for poisons.

* * *

"I can't believe we blew the easiest mission we could've had this week."

" _We_ didn't blow anything." Ron said, trudging along the road and kicking a rock. They were back in Hogsmeade now that their work day was over. "I know Kingsley's got a lot on his plate right now, but sending a letter letting you know about a sting a day before it happens? Of course it didn't get to us in time, he was asking for that to happen."

"You knew that Wiggins guy, right? Is he always that useless?"

"Dunno. I don't know him past his name, but he never gave me the idea he'd screw up that badly. Damn it, if the Ministry's full of people like him, it's no wonder they got taken over by the Death Eaters for eight months."

"Might want to try and keep a closer eye on our mail, I s'pose. I actually checked with Hermione to see if that arrest warrant was a dupe, but it was real. I guess we'll just have to wait for another chance to get Rita. I hope she's not almost done with that damn book."

"Post office is just 'round the corner." Ron pointed out. "You want to go with me? I want to see if Bill sent anything back."

The day before the dispatch to Malfoy Manor had been Bill's and Fleur's first anniversary, itself celebrated a day after Harry's birthday. It was not merely a reply back from the congratulations that the three of them had sent: Bill, working closely with Gringotts in the past, would most likely be hearing back from Charlie sooner than Ron did. Harry understood that the youngest Weasley son had mentioned to his elder brothers the state of a certain dragon they'd found in the depths of the bank's vaults.

"Yeah, actually, might have another letter from Krum..."

Ignoring Ron's sour look, Harry followed him over to the post office, where they checked in with the postmaster. Ron didn't have any new mail, though Ms. Shannon had let them know that Pigwidgeon had been in regularly ("Bloody bird!"), and handed Harry a thank-you letter from Ginny regarding her birthday present from him, a new wand guard and holster and a set of earrings. While Ron sat down to write a letter--looking secretive enough that Harry deigned to give him privacy--Harry looked around the place, examining the owls on display for rent. Though it was far more muted than it had been in the months following an end to the war, he still felt a small pang, missing Hedwig. He had not seen fit to replace her since things had calmed down, which meant he was shorthanded when it came to mail deliveries, and even moreso when it came to companionship.

"Harry..."

He looked up. Ron was finished with his letter, and there was a thoughtful look on his face.

"Yeah?"

"You need a new owl."

Harry did not say anything, and he was sure he didn't need to. Getting a new owl felt like simply trading away the memory of what had been one of his closest friends. He was sure the feeling was similar to Ron's when people had suggested he get a new rat in the wake of Scabbers' apparent death. But at the same time, he knew that Ron, understanding that, wouldn't say so unless he genuinely thought it would help. After maintaining the silence for a moment, Ron continued.

"We can both get new ones, we'll go together."

"What do you mean, 'together'?" Harry answered, now bemused. "You were just talking about Pig earlier, weren't you?"

"You might've noticed Pig's been promoted to 'family owl' over the last few years." Ron answered, with one eyebrow raised. "Technically he's supposed to carry all our mail, even if he only really listens to Ginny these days. Errol died just a year after we got him, so he joined the Burrow right on time. I reckon now I've got a job and a salary, it might be time to get my own owl. And I know you really loved Hedwig, but I think having a new one'll do you good. Mum said it's always easier to move on from a loss if you've got something new to care for."

Harry could not exactly argue with that advice, never having tested it, but admitted to himself that it might be worth a shot.

"Alright. We'll go to Eeylop's tomorrow afternoon, yeah?"

"It's a plan. I'd better get to Gringotts tomorrow morning if I can..."

As they left the post office, Harry's hand descended beneath the collar of his shirt, finding the mokeskin pouch he'd been gifted for his seventeenth birthday. Many items still remained in there, including the Marauder's Map, the letter written by his mother to Sirius, the Snitch that had contained the Resurrection Stone, and the shard from the two-way mirror. Contained within was also a single tiny white feather, a last memento taken from Hedwig that had been left on his clothes on the night of the event that had killed her. It was, to him, every bit as valuable as any piece of unique magical technology. With those treasures close to his chest, always resting against the pink scar left by an agitated locket, he felt protected.

"Thanks, Ron..." he said, despite himself.


	7. Keys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same evening...

"I saw Potter today."

There was silence from his three lieutenants, the only ones he had thought this information needed to reach. They were sitting in one of very many small but cozy dens in their current meeting place, which this time was the Grand Lestrange House. Dolohov was bent forward with his arms over his knees.

"You...you saw Potter? But--" Yaxley finally said, bemused.

"Through Rosmerta." Dolohov clarified. "He walked into her pub today, him and Weasley."

Further silence.

"And you...you didn't kill him, I take it?" Rodolphus continued. His voice had an edge to it that Dolohov recognized.

"No. I thought having her cast the Avada Kedavra in a full pub might cause more chaos than I could get away with. Might've killed Potter if I was lucky, and blown our whole operation. That said, I did try to get him to sit down for a drink, which I could've had her poison, but they weren't there to enjoy themselves and didn't stay long."

"It's amazing." Rodolphus said simply. "They don't even consider that going out and exposing themselves so casually might be dangerous."

"We'll make them regret that soon." Dolohov said, fingering his wand. "You should know, you three have done excellent work so far--you especially, Yaxley. Fletcher alone has proved immensely valuable. Thanks to all the ingredients he was able to secure on the black market, we're able to move on to the next stage of the plan soon. You made sure to pick up everything you're going to need, right? Darkness powder, Medusa candlewax, Hand of Glory...?"

Yaxley nodded. Dolohov let a small smile come onto his face.

"Good. I have to admit, it was a stroke of luck, getting this done in time. I've been having Rosmerta brew Long-Lasting Forgetfulness Potion, just in case she ever made contact with any Aurors. When one showed up for the interview with Skeeter, it was a matter of just discreetly Confunding the man to think he'd already performed his drink checks. The brew specifically targets ingrained routines, and it's powerful enough that he'll retain symptoms for about three weeks, so that's our window of opportunity. This pushes things forward by quite a bit. The rest of you will need to be ready within the week, I think. I'll need help from the three of you."

All three men leaned forward, eyes and ears paying rapt attention. Dolohov liked that.

"What is it we're doing?" Yaxley asked. "We can't regain the Ministry, not so soon--unless it's the whole of Hogsmeade? No, it wouldn't..."

"We're going to Azkaban."

Dolohov was quite sure he could hear heartbeats restarting in the silence that followed his pronouncement.

"A...Azkaban?" Rodolphus asked in a hollow voice.

"Yes." said Dolohov grimly. "We won't need much, but I will need assistance, especially if things don't go smoothly..."

"You sound like you've already got a plan..." Yaxley murmured, still looking stunned and uneasy. "You...you can't be serious. You want us to go _there?_ "

His eyes roved over each of his Death Eaters in turn, scanning their faces. Three of the men here had served sentences in Azkaban, while Yaxley had not. It did not surprise him that all of them would express hesitation, even him.

"Drop those frightened looks, friends. The dementors have been removed, remember? All it is now is a fortress."

"Yeah, only a fortress with Aurors crawling over every inch of it!" Yaxley protested.

"I think you're jumping a bit ahead, man, this sounds crazy..." Rodolphus joined in.

"I won't do it." Rabastan said.

Silence fell again as Dolohov slowly turned to face the last man to pipe up. Though his relationship with these three was far closer to a straightforward friendship than the master-subordinate matter it should probably be by this point, none of his Death Eaters had yet openly defied him. It pleased him that the other two immediately realized this last move was not something to be emulated in digging their heels in against returning to the prison.

"I won't. I won't go back there." Rabastan said, and Dolohov noticed that he was extraordinarily pale. He let this hang for a moment before answering.

"That's fine, Rabastan." he said softly. "If you'd rather stay behind for this mission, I have some other important work you can be doing in the meantime. You two will need to go, however." he finished, nodding towards Rodolphus and Yaxley.

The tension did not seem to decrease, despite his more than lenient response. Dolohov thought he liked that, too.

"Dolohov..." came Rodolphus' voice, and he saw the man swallow nervously, but he cut him off.

"Azkaban is the key to all of this." he said, leaning back. "None of this works without it. If we can get my plan to go off without a hitch, then we seize not only a fortress, but turn the tide of the entire blood purity struggle in the course of a single day. And in a week? A month? Two months, three? A year? It's all ours. We win. I will not move forward without Azkaban, and neither will any of you--you will be joining me."

His word was far more final now than it had been a second ago, and Rodolphus and Yaxley immediately backed down. Rabastan spoke up again next.

"What...will I be doing, then?" Rabastan asked, visibly nervous.

"You'll be in charge of obtaining some, ah, doormat keys," Dolohov said, "like Rosmerta. A couple select people--we'll need brooms, and a hidden, reliable method of transportation, especially once the plan comes to fruition. I have some people in mind, and you'll need some time to perform espionage and get them under the Imperius Curse. You've been practicing on the Muggles, right?"

"...Yes sir." Rabastan said grimly.

"Good. And, Yaxley, you handled the problem back at your place?" he inquired.

Yaxley nodded. "All of the mirrors have been covered, and the basement sealed off. The shrieking is still, uh--"

"Don't worry about that." Dolohov interrupted. "I'll handle it next time I'm there. And you'll be happy to know we can dispose of the Muggles soon, since I'm almost done with the tests. Fletcher should have his new mark in a few days." Then, he stood up. "What you can do in the meantime is make preparations. I've got a specific poison in mind, and it will need to be powerful, discreet, and fast-acting. Rosmerta's got most of it already brewing, but I still need a few more ingredients. You should have a look at some streelers and get me at least a few."

"What about the other two? Selwyn and Travers, I mean?" Yaxley inquired. "They're getting antsy. Want a crack at the Aurors."

"They'll do nothing of the sort," Dolohov said sharply, "and if they try to, you're to punish them. If they succeed in tracking down Rowle, _then_ they can speak about more complex missions. Although I don't know how soon I'm planning on trusting them with anything near Diagon Alley."

He was thinking specifically of Ollivander and Tom from the Leaky Cauldron; not exactly out-of-the-way, vulnerable targets, but if anything with the plan were to go wrong, it would be best to have some contingencies felt out early. Trusting missions like those to Travers and Selwyn felt...risky.

"I'm going to try and finish up a few of my little projects, and after that...you may not see me for a few days. I have some spying to do. Until I give you your next orders, you know what you're to be doing. Let me know if anything changes."

* * *

_And if I'm on the mark...a simple process with threefold benefits..._

Dolohov fingered the ring sitting on his right middle finger, as he strolled quietly onto the Lestranges' lawn. His studies were about to come to fruition, with just a few more pieces moved around. He could hardly wait to begin testing out his greater theories. He would have to secure a better boat, if he were going to carry out the operation properly. The greatest and most feared wizarding prison in the world had been undergoing a steady undermining over the last few years thanks to Death Eater machinations--but it had to be said that the greatest part of that was the dementors joining their side. Its reputation still tended to inspire fear in the common populace, who were still easily cowed by its ominous mystique. Few people knew what lurked in Azkaban besides those awful creatures, or its true secrets, and he would relish the chance to explore the place properly. Not to mention, getting it properly staffed.

In the meantime, his followers would be setting up proper protections for their Horcruxes and the hideouts containing them. He himself would need to practice his cursework; his spells had advanced a significant way since the First War, and even expanded quite a bit in power since the last time he actually had to use them on Aurors just a few months ago, but with only the three of them storming the place...and he would definitely be doing the brunt of the heavy lifting. But then, he had an entire cellar full of Muggles to practice on.`He even had some ideas on what to do with the hearts afterward. For now, though, he was interested in their eyes.

One of the reasons he never bothered to disclose the full extent of his theories and plans with his compatriots was that he knew it would make him come off as paranoid. In truth, he simply liked to know things, and liked knowing how things worked. Knowledge was, after all, power, and by far the most effective weapon, hence why he had always volunteered any mission he could get while under the leadership of the Dark Lord; it had led him to many valuable pieces of knowledge and many spells and artifacts he had a mind to replicate. Yaxley, who had been the one to retrieve Alastor Moody's corpse and had quickly pocketed the magical eye, had later told his friend how it had later been 'donated to the department', thus ending up on Umbridge's office door. The woman herself had been unbearable and irritating, but Dolohov had to admit he liked her ingenuity.

Rodolphus had managed to save quite a bit of unique and valuable items from the Lestrange Vault before Gringotts had frozen the account in response to the fall of Lord Voldemort. This alone was a stroke of good enough fortune that it cushioned their current situation by quite a bit, securing them not only a decent amount of gold to make Mundungus' financial situation easier during black market dives, but a variety of old and potentially powerful items to be used at their leisure. Dolohov expected he'd find use for quite a lot of them, that sword in particular. Once he was finished with the collar, he'd move on to working on a spying eye.

_I might need to move that up on the list of priorities. As few of us as there are, we just don't have enough manpower for espionage activities._

Thus, half of the tasks Rabastan had been set to have accomplished by the time they returned from the Azkaban mission. Hopefully, once the plan was fully underway, they wouldn't _need_ to do too much spying, as Wizarding Britain would fall under their rule very quickly.

Sighing, he decided there wasn't much more use in dawdling, and Disapparated, landing back at Yaxley's back yard. After striding over to the still fountain with its dead leaves and vanishing into it, he walked up to the back door and took out the old silver key, unlocking and opening the noiseless door before he strode inside. His ears immediately perked with the distant, but definitely very present, sound of screaming. It seemed to be coming from below... It had to have been her, as the Muggles in the cellar were no longer in any shape to raise their voices' volume even half that high.

"Guess I'd better go and take care of that." he murmured, drawing his wand as he closed the door behind him.


	8. Owls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day...

_"Rosmerta Roberts, owner of the popular Three Broomsticks inn and pub of Hogsmeade, has been spotted in the company of Ludo Bagman, former head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and popular Quidditch talk host and sales representative. Bagman has since met with journalists for the Prophet and proudly admitted to having a sweetheart."_

Hermione set the paper down with a look that suggested she was weighing how truthful the paper's implications were. Though Skeeter was no longer permitted to write for them, plenty of hack tabloid artists still populated the paper at a lower level. But, then again...

"Eh. I'm happy for him." Ron said, stuffing a croissant in his mouth and quickly wolfing it down. "I hear he's cleaned up his act a lot, you know. And Rosmerta isn't doing half bad, landing a celebrity like him."

"I just hope she keeps an eye on her purse." Hermione said with a grimace.

The three of them were eating dinner at Brews and Stews. This was not a cafe Harry had ever entered before, finding it to be a tad out of the way compared to more popular pubs, but Ron swore by their chowders and beef stews, and after having dug in, Harry had to agree. Despite being much smaller than its competitors, or perhaps because of this, it was also much cooler than the comparatively sweltering larger pubs.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Hmm?"

A large screech owl was rapping the window next to Harry's booth. Before Harry could get the window open, another owl, this one a tawny, joined it, crowding the windowsill space and leading to a short but turbulent rebuffing that scattered feathers across the glass. Letting the window up, Harry allowed them both to step in and deliver their letters, with Hermione and Ron hastily moving all of their plates and bowls away from the mass of feathers. The screech owl waddled over to Ron, extending its leg, to which a letter was attached. Harry got the tawny, and he took out his money satchel for postage. Once it was retrieved and handed over, Harry received a welcome surprise: the name read that it was from Viktor Krum.

"Hey, speaking of Quidditch celebrities..."

"Eh?"

Harry scanned the letter, which this time had not borne a Bulgarian seal.

"He's in the country! Actually, he's staying not too far from here. He wants to set up a meeting!"

"What's he doing _that_ for?" Ron asked, visibly irritated. "Britain isn't hosting the World Cup, we didn't even qualify! Neither did Bulgaria, come to that..."

"Ron," Harry said reproachfully, "are you ever gonna get over this thing with Krum? He's a nice enough bloke, and he wants to stay connected. Your in-laws like him, so he's not exactly going to disappear."

Ron murmured something about safe distances and Hermione smiled.

"While these are here," Ron said, eyes now focused on his own letter as he retrieved his own postage money, "would you mind telling Harry about getting an owl?"

"Ooh, you're finally going to?" Hermione said hopefully, passing the coins to the screech owl before it retreated out of the window and followed the tawny away from the building. "I never said anything before now, Harry, but I think that's a wonderful idea. Your mail could come directly to you instead of dropping it into the Ministry mail tins. And I really think you could use a new companion."

Harry swallowed. Earlier today, he had tried to get out of going to get a new owl by claiming to Ron that he was too busy at the moment to take up care for a new animal. Ron had seen through this immediately, and called him on chickening out. While their schedules were no longer set to end at four now that they were fully-fledged Aurors, whatever new animal he chose would be readily cared for at the Burrow anyway.

"Look, I know it's a good idea..." Harry said, swirling a spoon through his cream of mushroom chicken, "I don't know if I'm ready."

"Harry, it's been a year..." Hermione started, but Ron took over, jabbing his fork at Harry.

"You're never gonna _be_ 'ready' mate." he said. "Grief clings. If you're hoping it'll get up and leave on its own, it won't. After a while, it's a matter of just doing something about it."

"And you think getting an owl is the thing to do?"

"I do." Ron answered firmly. "So I'd appreciate it if you stopped waffling. Hermione and I can drag you to Eeylops if we need to."

Harry glanced at Hermione, who with a placid simper on her face confirmed that she'd follow through on that. He sighed and dug into his soup again while Ron went back to reading his letter. Within a couple more minutes, he had something else to say.

"Yep." he said with a sigh, folding up the letter and stuffing it in a breast pocket. "Someone's in trouble."

"Eh? Why is someone in trouble?" Hermione answered, peering over at Ron's letter, which he laid out on the table so everyone could see. Harry at first thought it was quite a long letter, until he realized that it was two pieces of parchment stuck to one another at the ends. The above piece's contents had all been stricken through, though not enough that Harry couldn't read the scrawl underneath it. The second letter was bare of these edits, and when Harry peered at the name at the very end, thought it said 'Charlie' until looking closer and realized it was from someone called 'Connor'.

"Connor apparently intercepted this just after Charlie sent it. He's been livid ever since he got my letter about that Ironbelly Gringotts were keeping down in their vaults. He was mad enough about that, but apparently it found its way to their sanctuary some time last month. Connor's part here says that after they got a good look at the thing, he had to have the rangers hold him down, and then Stun him. Twice. Doesn't surprise me, really--anybody would be mad about animal abuse, but..."

"But what?" Harry asked, brow furrowing.

"To be honest, I kind of _want_ him to come up here." Ron said, fighting a grin. "Charlie loves dragons just like Hagrid does, and it's rare to see him mad. I want to see what happens for the posterity of it, you know? 'Course, if he ends up trying to choke out the branch manager of Gringotts, they'll probably throw him in a cell, and them Mum would start crying..."

"So what's his plan? Is he going to file a complaint?" Harry asked.

"He's going to send a _Howler_." Ron said, his grin reaching his eyes now. "But yeah, he and Connor are trying to arrange something with the Goblin Liason Office at the Ministry. In the meantime, he's asked Bill to have a meeting with the branch manager there, seeing as Bill is an associate of the bank."

"Goblin Liason Office...gah, that's a whole two levels down, we'll never hear it even if we're there." Harry lamented. "Unless...Hermione, you intern down on Level Five, right? Think we could, ah, 'visit' you?"

"Honestly, do you two not have enough to do?" Hermione replied with a raised eyebrow. "Besides, the Howler won't be coming to the Ministry, it'll be going to Gringotts. Although...I have to admit, it's nice to know someone's taking responsibility for what gets done to magical creatures around here. Do you think they'll have any permanent sway?"

"Maybe." Ron answered. "Gringotts is old, and powerful. Complete monopoly on banking in Wizarding Britain, and they've been completely under goblin control for the last couple centuries. Well, except for the Death Eaters--"

"They're still not back under goblin control yet." Hermione reminded him. "That was one of the first things the Death Eaters did when they took over the Ministry--the bank is officially under Ministry control even now, and it's expected it'll pass back over to them, but nothing's happened yet."

"Yeah, well, the dragon sanctuary aren't a bunch of kids in the playground, either." Ron responded. "Most wizarding offices that new wouldn't be able to face a giant like Gringotts, but they've got about the same power over dragons as goblins do over money. I think if the officials get word that a few pissed-off rangers might go on strike long enough for dragons to go on rampages, they're liable to bend."

"They wouldn't _actually_ do that, would they?" Harry asked, eyebrows jumping.

"I think they'd _threaten_ to." Ron said. "It's not just that Romania is too far away for Death Eater interests; the wizards over there are juggernauts. People that can handle dragons are the only form of 'leash' we have on creatures that untame-able, so keeping them happy is another of those big 'invisible priorities'. The Romanian Dragon Sanctuary has a _lot_ of sway in the RMCM offices, and not just in Britain, but in _every_ European Ministry. A lot of stuff has the potential to shut down, or get destroyed, if they decide they don't like how things are going. Plus everyone that stocks dragon products will be sending angry letters, too, if that happens."

"We should talk to Luna about this." Hermione said cheerfully. "She's really into magizoology, so I'm sure she'd be delighted to get her dad to write a thinkpiece on Gringotts relating to dragon abuse."

"Let's let Charlie handle this for now." Ron said apprehensively. With one last mouthful, he polished off his meal, then looked expectantly at the other two. "C'mon, let's not keep the owls waiting! You know Eeylops closes early."

"Alright, alright." Harry answered, and he and Hermione focused on their food once more.

* * *

Harry was no stranger to Eeylops. He had gone here periodically over the years whenever he needed extra food or a new cage for Hedwig. The interior of the Diagon Alley location was very dim, lit by small candles inside glass shells stationed under each roost. Dens like this, much like the Owlery at Hogwarts, could be a bit unnerving for the unprepared, what with all of the large eyes staring down at any visitors. This was where Hagrid had bought him his snowy owl as an eleventh birthday gift, so long ago.

" _Who is it? Who's there?_ " came the whispered voice of the Eeylops owner, which nonetheless carried enough to echo. Ron waved hello as Hermione closed the door behind them. Out of the offices at the back of the store came a tall, rail-thin, man with grey flyaway hair with a balding patch in the middle, and very large eyes. This was Mr. Jonas, the manager, who had run this place for at least thirty years. His had been one of the shops that had closed down completely in the Second Wizarding War, leading some to suspect that he had gone the same way as Mr. Fortescue, yet when the war was over, he had reappeared in good health...though perhaps not good cheer. As Harry could plainly see, he looked haggard and extremely nervous, and was brandishing something too long to be a wand.

"Stay still, the three of you! Don't move!"

The Probity Probe was run up and down all of them several times before he was satisfied. Withdrawing, Mr. Jonas peered down at them all with eyes narrowed.

"What're you here for? Owl treats, new letter ties...?"

"Actually, we're here for two new owls, sir." Ron answered.

"Eh? ...No kidding? Double sales aren't rare these days. Well, come on then, let me show you all the owls that need new homes."

And so Harry and Ron were shown around the shop, being advised on different breeds of owl and the care they required, shown individual owls by name and told their various habits and temperaments. Mr. Jonas was very up front about the fact that he was not allowing the sale of any snowys, eagles, or great greys until the population was a little more in balance ("People are so cold! Nobody wants a barn or a tawny or a screech anymore because they're _normal_ and _boring!_ ") and was pressuring them to take some of the older owls. Harry had to remind himself that choosing an owl was not like choosing a wand; there would not be some magical, enlightening sensation leading him to the correct choice.

Near the back of the shop, Ron's attention was drawn to a pair of owls who were sharing a roost, leading him to ask if they were a mated pair.

"Mated? Goodness, no, those are twins! That's Bosco and Bastian! Though we call them Boss and Bash around here."

Ron pulled him closer, and Harry found himself staring up into the faces of two barn owls, each with a streak of brown across opposite sides of their white chests. Harry had never been too fond of barn owls. Sure, there was a certain majesty about them, but with their white, mask-like faces and deep-set eyes, they could be very unsettling to behold, and being under their gaze provided a feeling acutely similar to being stared down by Minerva McGonagall. As he peered up at Bosco and Bastian, the one Mr. Jonas had indicated as 'Bash' gave a short screech and ruffled its wings at him.

"Inseparable, those two. Bosco loves delivering mail, very astute about finding addressees. Bastian is a tad lazier, but a fiercely loyal one. Tends to be less receptive to newcomers, I'm afraid."

Ron proffered his arm, and to Harry's surprise, Bosco fluttered down onto it without hesitation.

"Harry." Ron whispered. "Stick out your arm. Go on, do it."

Harry obeyed, looking up at Bastian. The owl stared down at him, sitting still for a moment, long enough that Harry was just about to retract his arm when, with a somewhat indecisive rocking and a dignified ruffling of feathers, Bastian flapped his way down onto Harry's forearm. He looked at the owl in amazement, and the owl looked back at him, ignoring his brother who was making pealing screeches in his direction. After holding the gaze for a moment, Bastian waddled forward, closer to his shoulder, and extended its head. The man almost thought the bird was going to peck or bite him, and leaned back fearing for his eyes, until it finally nipped his chin, then relaxed. Harry looked towards Ron, who was grinning.

"Come on..." Ron said, a pleading tone to his voice. "You know you want to."

He turned to Mr. Jonas. "How much for the twins?"

"Ten galleons apiece."

The money was forked over, whereupon Hermione joined them, her arms full of owl treats and servicing items that she had promised to contribute. Whereas Bosco had seen fit to waddle onto the desk where Mr. Jonas did the cashiering and then back onto Ron's opposite shoulder, Bastian did not leave Harry whatsoever, keeping so still it was somewhat impressive. When the time came to prepare cages for the two, Bastian finally turned his head very slowly and deliberately towards Harry, as if to ask him if he was really meant to stay in there instead of simply riding Harry's shoulder to the nearest roost.

He had to admit, this wouldn't be so bad. The weight on his shoulder was familiar and pleasant, even if it made his heart ache. He gently lowered Bastian into the cage, whereupon he settled himself and stared up at Harry with eyes so dark they might have been holes in space. There was a small _reep!_ from the bird, and Harry smiled. A minute later, he and Ron were exiting the store bearing twin birds in twin cages. Mr. Jonas followed them out of the store to yell something behind them:

"Oi! Be careful out there with those birds! Muggles are still going missing, and mail isn't always safe!"

"We'll keep an eye on things, sir!" Harry called back.

"Sorry," Hermione piped up, "I might have been over at the Department of International Magical Cooperation for this, but did he say Muggles are _still_ going missing?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other uncomfortably.

"It wasn't anything serious, at first." Ron said, fidgeting. "There's always some amount of people going missing when you're talking about a whole country. But the disappearances kept mounting, until the Muggle Prime Minister finally decided to contact Kingsley. No one had any idea how serious it was until they saw the numbers laid out like that. It's been really bad in the last two weeks."

"It's got to be Death Eater work..." Hermione said, frowning.

"Well, that's just the thing." Harry said. "There aren't any deaths attached, or any notable assaults. Someone's just _taking_ them. There hasn't been a single Dark Mark sighting since late May, so Death Eaters aren't claiming the works. Whoever is doing this is operating too quickly, or too discreetly, for any neighbors to get wind of what's going on, even the wizards who live nearby. And the disappearances are random, so no one has any idea of where to stake Aurors out to watch for activity."

"There's some Aurors that are hoping it's some wild magical creature and not a serious threat, but most everyone knows that's probably not it. Not unless Lethifolds have suddenly started springing up in western Europe."

"Strange..." Hermione said. "I know you said it was just Muggles, but you haven't been going anywhere alone, have you? Just, be safe, alright? I always have at least one person with me when I leave the Ministry."

"We know, Hermone." Harry said. "Let's get back to the Burrow and introduce these boys to their new home," he said, lifting the cage containing Bastian, "and then we can put our heads together and figure out where these people are vanishing off to."

Hermione and Ron nodded, and the three of them mounted their brooms and took off towards home.


	9. Bound

Dolohov's hand was closed on the door to the state room, and with a deep sigh, he opened it. 

Inside were a group of wizards numbering about thirty, not nearly enough to stress the capacity of the largest and grandest room in Yaxley's place now that all the furniture had been removed. Ruggy had done an excellent job of cleaning the place from top to bottom, so that none of the thick layer of dust that had previously coated it remained. The men, and a couple of women, he noticed, hanging around were not all faces he recognized. These, he knew, were remnants of what had once formed the biggest part of Lord Voldemort's forces, sympathizers to the cause who were capable enough or had some use, but did not enjoy the attention granted to those of the inner circle. The Death Eaters had never been a huge organization, but even now, a mere thirty-odd supporters was a disappointing number, though he knew his lieutenants had been through a lot to find them all and bring them here. That they had escaped the grasp of the Aurors for this long after the Battle of Hogwarts where most of their force had fallen was, if nothing else, a testament to their ability to lay low and stay hidden. All of them were looking at him expectantly as he walked in and shut the door behind him.

As soon as he strode into the wider room, Yaxley, Rodolphus, and Rabastan split off from the group and made a path to either side. The others seemed to get the message, spreading out into a circle so that all could see the newcomer and what he had to say. He peered across each face in the afternoon light, finding curiosity and apprehension in equal measure. He met Yaxley's eyes and nodded slightly; it was, after all, his house.

"Supporters to the cause," he said, turning to address the people behind him. "You've been brought together to keep hope alive for a true Wizarding society free of the deceptions and tricks of Muggles and Muggleborns. The Dark Lord has fallen, but we have not! It's up to us to sever the creeping decay in his name."

There were murmurs of assent throughout the circle, brutish faces and twisted sneers lighting into grins, some delighted, yet others questioning. Yaxley beckoned him forward, and pressed a hand to his back to welcome him into the edge of the group.

"This man is ready to lead us! This is the one I was telling you about, the one who will become our new Dark Lord!"

More murmurs full of interest, particularly at those last few bold words, and then--!

" _And who the hell is he?_ "

The room went still and quiet.

Dolohov peered towards the source of the interruption. One man was leaning forward into the circle. He was large, standing a head taller than the men to either side of him, and Dolohov recognized him at once: with matted grey hair, lips held apart as though prepared to snarl at all times, and unusually sharp teeth behind them, was Fenrir Greyback. Dolohov kept his face impassive, resisting the urge to let his immediate disgust show. Greyback, however, was looking expectantly at him. When Yaxley opened his mouth to admonish, Dolohov held up a hand to stop him.

"My name is Antonin Dolohov." he said politely. "And you are..?"

"It's Greyback." the werewolf answered. "And why the hell are we followin' _you_? Who _are_ you, and what makes _you_ so great?"

He had expected to have to quell some resistance among returning Death Eaters, and didn't mind that at all. But he had not expected the first dissident to be Greyback. In fact, he had not expected Greyback to be here at all, and would have barred him from entry had he thought his lieutenants were going to actually extend him an invitation. He had asked them to round up every member of the ranks. It had not occurred to him they'd consider a werewolf among that number, as even during the height of the war, when werewolves had been useful for their organized savagery, he still had not been permitted to be part of the inner circle, as he shouldn't have been. Did he not realize what a position he was in right now? The two of them weren't equals, even talking outside their relative ranks in the Dark Lord's service. So many of the men were looking between the two of them, but the gazes that focused on himself were of anticipation. Looking at him now, Dolohov could not find many reasons not to simply dispose of Greyback. But first, this could be worked to his advantage, and with less damage to the stock, so to speak.

"You're following me," Dolohov answered coolly, "because I'm the most powerful person in this room, and I have a plan to lead you with."

"Drivel." spat the werewolf, and Dolohov felt a rush of anticipation of his own at this continued audacity. "I can't believe I got called here to talked down to by some wannabe swindler."

"You think someone else is better suited to that position, then?" he asked. You could have heard a feather hit the floor. "You think... _you_ have what it takes, maybe?" he prodded.

Those who knew of his abilities and his loyalty would not have bowed up like this, even considering there could have been other candidates for leadership. Without having the reputation that preceded Bellatrix and Snape when they'd been alive, it was too much to expect instant loyalty. He was more than happy to prove that he could step into their shoes, though, with but a little trust, or fear, or both. The fastest way to inspire both was to knock down a challenger, and Greyback took the bait fantastically.

"Maybe I do." Greyback growled. A hum of low chatter immediately started up again.

"You've got a wand, don't you? I expect you to back up those words."

Perhaps he was wrong, he thought as Greyback drew a wand and many of the men around them backed away, widening the circle to surround them. Maybe Greyback was aware at the very least of his own station, and sought to use this opportunity to rise through the ranks and gain respect. He was mistaken on that count, and woefully so. Dolohov drew his own wand.

"The rest of you--to the walls at either side." he ordered. Though about half of the gathered crowd was initially slow to follow his orders, they quickly joined the other half when they saw it included Yaxley and the Lestrange brothers. Everyone retreated, filling up either wall to the left and right and leaving him and the werewolf lined up in each other's sights.

The two approached each other, then stopped about ten feet away. Dolohov deigned to give a small, slight nod in place of a bow, while Greyback did not manage even that effort, simply pointing his wand directly at him. Dolohov held his up, and Rodolphus, off to the side, counted down. Murmurs were flowing around the room.

"Three...two...one!"

Dolohov was rather curious to see how this went. It was his understanding that a wand was not Greyback's preferred method of attack, and he'd never given the impression that he was magically capable by the rumors circling about him. But the beast-man wasted no time, baring his teeth as a jet of green light erupted from it. Dolohov's eyes widened, and he ducked to the side, feeling it fly past his head. There were a few cheers and jeers.

_So he can use the Killing Curse..._

The spell had been unusually wide, but slower than average as it moved through the air, hinting at the inexperience behind Greyback's power. Having lost his chance at a quick win, he sent several more spells of varying colors and intensities Dolohov's way, all of which were blocked with ease before he waved his wand, his own spell too fast for a Shield Charm to be cast in time, and send the hulking brute hurtling backwards, across the length of the state room and crashing into the opposite wall beyond, hard enough that it cracked behind him and send shards of glass down from the window pane above.

Dust joined the silence as it fell, shaken down from the roof. Greyback was stirring, pulling himself up from the crouch he'd fallen into as he peeled off the wall. Dolohov pulled his wand above his head, then dragged it down around him, swiping it across the air. As soon as his wand passed across the sight of Greyback's body, there was a sickening crunch as his left leg was bent inward at the knee, following the arc of his attack. A ferocious shriek of pain rang out, and he was put back down onto his single unshattered knee. Gasps rang out.

Dolohov allowed him a moment to grasp at his ruined leg and howl in pain. Only when he took notice of the wand that had clattered to the floor beside him and reached for it to attempt retalation did Dolohov aim a swift jet of fire and set the wand alight just before his fingers could close on it. The duel was over.

Nobody spoke as the new Dark Lord strode forward, taking longer to cross the state room than he had taken to end the match. This worked out just fine for him, since by the time he was standing over Greyback, the man had progressed from bawled curses and screams of agony to gasping for breath and moaning and whimpering. Dolohov took his wand out and pointed it at Greyback's forehead. For all the pain he was in, he made an admirable attempt at silencing himself. Normal men would not have gotten within biting range of a werewolf, but he felt confident this one was no threat now, not after that brutally short display.

"Do you understand what you've done?" he asked quietly.

"W-Wait..." he asked, blinking back tears of pain, "I-I was o-out of turn...I'll f-fall in line..."

"And why would I want that?" Dolohov asked as the tip of his wand began to smoke ominously. Sympathy eluded him, leaving only the full show of disgust he'd hidden until now. "What use do I have for a slobbering beast like you in the ranks?"

"I can...I can be useful! Please, let me--!"

"No." he said, his almost-whisper carrying around the hall. "You are no use to us, now. Dark Mark or no, you're a big fat sign begging Aurors to come investigate. You've lost the leadership you had among the wolves when the Dark Lord fell. And as you just proved now, you're a sloppy fighter, with no skill or discipline, with no power of the caliber we need outside a full moon. You're a liability to us. So then, what exactly should I do with you?"

"P-please..." Greyback begged, tears now streaming down his face, which was swaying as though woozy. "I'll be an asset--! K-keep me around, I can help!"

"You know...I think I'll do just that." Dolohov answered, straightening up, but keeping his wand pointed at Greyback. The sight of the man, broken and crying, pleased him immensely, and he rested easily on the knowledge that, seeing what a grand mistake going against him was, none of the other patchwork vagrants that made up the new Death Eaters would try repeating it.

"Rabastan, come get Greyback under Ruggy's care." he ordered, turning to face the others. "Rodolphus, meet me in the cellar in an hour, I've just had an idea. The rest of you..." he said, peering one by one into face after face, the expressions mixing fear and awed respect. A grin was pulling onto his own face.

"Welcome to the fold."

* * *

"It's complete."

Rodolphus peered at the object in Dolohov's hands: a small metal collar with a red band running through its center on the outside. Aside from that and a clasp to buckle it closed, it was near-featureless.

"You spend a lot of time inventing torture devices, then? I've seen you use Cruciatus, Dol--er, my Lord. I can't see why you'd bother."

"It's not a torture device." Dolohov corrected him. "It's a _control_ device."

"I've seen your Imperius as well. In fact, you've critiqued my own, quite helpfully. I'm still not seeing the point."

Just then, the door to the cellar opened. The light shining down into the room awoke some of the Muggles, who immediately began their usual raspy, muted crying and pleading. Dolohov waved his wand without looking at them, silencing all in the room but him and his compatriots. Which, as he learned when he looked up, included Yaxley and Mundungus, the latter of whom was being dragged down the steps and bore a familiar look of fear approaching that of hysterics.

"Great, a demonstration. Set him in a chair."

Rodolphus dragged one over and took Mundungus by the arm, throwing him into it. The terrified man's eyes were darting from place to place so fast that Dolohov was surprised he could focus on anything at all: their faces one by one, the door, the chained Muggles, the walls, his own face, the door again...as usual, little half-whimpered sounds were escaping his throat, the habit of trying to plead for mercy not quite broken from him. He shied away when Dolohov approached him, almost falling out of his seat when he made to place the collar on him. Dolohov shot an annoyed look at Yaxley, who quickly jabbed his wand and produced a burn and a squeal on the jittery rat.

Once the collar was around him, tears, which had been threatening at the corners of his eyes, spilled down over Mundungus' face in abundance. He tried to protest, but once it was clicked into place, the collar began to glow orange. A yelp and another squeal were laido over the hissing sound of heating flesh, as the collar began to fuse with his throat, sinking into his neck. The thief's hands scrabbled fruitlessly at the device, but quite soon it slipped under them and was fully bonded. There was no trace of the actual device except a red band around Mundungus' neck, shining brightly atop the pink, irritated flesh of his throat.

"Great...now, what does it _do_?" Rodolphus demanded.

"Give him your wand."

There were two blank looks. Rodolphus lifted a hand, and pointed it at himself, as if to ask if Dolohov hadn't perhaps meant Yaxley. But Dolohov nodded and repeated himself. "Give him your wand."

The other man bit his lip, and he could tell that, had he not witnessed a brutal display an hour ago of what happened to defiant followers, Rodolphus would probably have preluded his surrender of his wand with an immense amount of protest. But with a grim look, he slowly removed his wand from his pocket and handed it to Mundungus.

Those darting eyes looked from the wand to Dolohov and back several times. There was a long moment of hesitation before he very slowly took the wand, as if expecting it to explode.

And then, nothing happened. Growing impatient, Dolohov sighed.

"Son of a..." he started, closing his eyes for a moment and then opening them to still see Mundungus looking bewildered. " _Attack me._ " he ordered, loudly and slowly, leaning in to lock eyes with the thief.

There was but one more moment of hesitation in which Yaxley drew his wand, looking wary. Then, in an instant--

_!!!_

" _Huerhgh!_ "

Dolohov had to hand it to Mundungus; given that he hadn't drawn his own wand, he might just have crumpled at the rat's hand. The man's firing arm was like lightning, but before a spell could be fired from Rodolphus' wand, there was a retching sound, and the wand clattered to the ground as both hands returned to his throat, holding it as though to pry something away from it. Dolohov knew that the collar fused into his body had contracted, pulling his throat tightly inwards and choking him. Rodolphus hastily retrieved his wand, looking alarmed.

"Good. See? It works." Dolohov said, completely cool. "Any sign of disloyalty is met with a tightening of the collar, until the lapse is corrected. I'll have to fix it up, make sure that it registers hesitation as a cause to trigger, but on the whole, it's ready to go."

"I still don't see why you bother, Dolohov." Yaxley said irritably. "What are you accomplishing with this contraption that I couldn't do faster with one spell?"

"It's true that I would prefer to use Imperius." Dolohov explained. "But it and Cruciatus can both cause brain damage when applied for too long or applied with too much force. Neither of those is something we can afford with our low numbers. But more than that, Imperius and Cruciatus can be blocked. They can be dispelled. Mundungus isn't the only one I'll have wearing collars like this. I'd like a method of control that doesn't share those weaknesses, even if it's at the risk of a tad too much autonomy. We'll still be using the Imperius in the main, but you'll soon see why I invested so much time in this. It'll become especially important later."

"Whatever." Rodolphus answered, a tad irritated. "Should I go get the Hand of Glory now?"

"Not yet. I still have some stuff I'd like to use good old Dung here for, before we install him here."

Yaxley sighed, looking disdainfully at Mundungus before turning his attention to the rest of the cellar. "And the Muggles? What should I do with them?"

Dolohov looked back, at all of the people chained to the walls, who looked terrified at what they had witnessed, but were unable to voice it despite their attempts. He saw only filth needing to be erased.

"Leave them. I could use a little bit of extra practice."


End file.
